


Share the Stars with You

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Chubby Mycroft, Greg the Explorer, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 237,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4371245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in Victorian times, we find Mycroft as a sedentary man of wealth and power and Greg as an explorer, a true man of action.  Given their opposite natures, could it be these two might actually achieve the one thing neither has ever thought possible - finding someone to love?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

      “You are fat.”

Mycroft sighed and lifted his eyes from his book to see his brother standing in the doorway of the library.

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  Whenever I am quietly enjoying my unseemly sense of self-worth with a good book and a small amount of fine whisky, I can always rely on you to remind me of the sad reality of my life.”

      “Someone must.  You consumed _two_ custards after dinner.”

      “And I forsook the cheese so the scales remain nicely balanced.”

      “When you become too rotund to rise from your bed, do not expect me to tend to your hygiene or personal excretory needs.”

Both brothers shuddered at that particular mental image and Sherlock had the good sense to realize some ground should never again be trod.

      “Might I ask the reason for your sudden concern for my welfare, brother?  And bring me my journal so I might scribe the event since, I am certain, it is a singular on in my life.”

It was never a good thing when Sherlock didn’t answer a question immediately.  If he did not even have a ridiculous insult to hurl to cover his intentions, those intentions were serious, indeed.

      “I… I may have _accidentally_ overheard your conversation with your physician this afternoon.”

Ah.  Well, that was a question unfortunately answered.

      “And your accidental eavesdropping must have informed you that the small issues to which I might be subject are of infinitesimal importance and not worthy of your heartfelt descriptions of my waistline.”

      “Father died of similar infinitesimal issues, if you recall.”

      “Very well.  If I promise not to expire today, may I continue to enjoy my evening?  If you recall from your crass violation of my privacy, I was advised to seek relaxation and reduction of stress whenever possible.”

      “You have not walked a distance greater than from your bedchamber to the breakfast table in years.  I would say the vast majority of your _life_ can be described as relaxing.”

      “For physical relaxation, perhaps; however, tonight I am attempting to give my mind some ease, something I know well you understand.”

If anything, Sherlock understood that need far too well, but had a heartbreaking time finding such for himself.  The mechanisms Mycroft had learned to channel and control his incomparable mind had never been ones that Sherlock could master and his younger brother suffered for it terribly, at times.

      “I will concede the point, though, it shall be for naught if your internals decide to stage a coup for their gross abuse and leave you calling for a hot water bottle to soothe the ache in your distended belly.”

      “Exactly how much of a coup could be prompted by a single, plain custard added to my meal?  I rather believe that, after years of brokering what can only be termed devilish deals within the finance, commerce and governmental arenas, my internals would require something far more potent to foment an uprising.  Surely one of Cook’s trifles or a healthy serving of ginger cake, at minimum.”

Sherlock stormed out of the library and Mycroft said a small thank you to whatever gods might be watching over him to give him this bit of peace.  His brother was a good boy, in a relative sense, but he did try one’s patience to a…

      “Here.  You will come with me.”

Mycroft nearly dropped his whisky as Sherlock shoved into his hands a coat, scarf, hat and walking stick.

      “Whatever are you talking about, brother dear.  I am going _nowhere_.”

      “Wrong.  You are coming with me to tonight’s lecture at the Royal Geographical Society.  It is certain to be dreary, however, there are occasions when items of interest are discussed and it will do you good to actually be seen in public and eradicate the rumors that I murdered you and encased your body behind a brick wall in the cellar.”

      “Oh, are those going around again?  Dear me, it _has_ been a long time then.  Very well, I shall make certain to visit the tobacconist in a day or two and exonerate you from any impending charges of fratricide.”

      “No, you will come with me tonight.  You will take a cab to the tobacconist and that will not provide any exercise to your bulk besides the jiggling it will endure from roughness of the streets.  We will walk.  Besides, there will be many in attendance tonight who are as dull, dry and portly as you, so you should feel quite the brother in arms.  Or brother in pheasant and pastries, which is really more appropriate.”

Every time Mycroft tried to set aside his outerwear, Sherlock pushed it back towards him and barring tossing the lot into the fire, Mycroft saw only two options.  Holding his outerwear in his lap until Sherlock became sufficiently bored and went away or donning said outerwear and accompanying his brother for the lecture.  As Sherlock’s hair-trigger boredom never seemed to manifest when he was laying siege to obtain his wants, the first option was handily eliminated.  That left option number two.  Physical exertion… was there anything more odious…

      “Very well.  Since I have little doubt you will continue your pestiferous ways until I accede to your demands, I might as well save myself the energy required for further bickering and apply it to a more useful purpose.”

      “You will likely need it immediately as our destination exceeds a two minute stroll from our door.  Come, I do not wish to be late and have to sit amongst the wheezers, harrumphers and snorers.”

      “What a delightful picture you paint, brother.  Verily, this shall be a bracing evening.”

Donning his coat, Mycroft pointedly made no notice of the fact it _had_ grown a bit tighter than the norm.  He was not a slim man.  Had never been one, not from birth, but he had, perhaps, allowed himself to settle into patterns that were not the kindest for one’s waistline.  Sherlock’s worries about his health were slightly off-point, however.  Grandfather also had similar issues and he did not share his and father’s propensity to fatten.  And, Grandfather lived to quite a ripe, old age.

Father’s situation was different.  The stresses of his sire’s life ultimately consumed him and that was the true thrust of the conversation with his physician.  His waistline would not drag him to his grave, but the time, attention and effort expended on his various ‘projects’ and lack of external physical and mental relaxation, or _stimulation_ for that matter, could easily do it and in a very distressing timeframe.  Hence, tonight’s attempt at a restful evening, when previously he had planned on devoting the hours to a study of documents he had recently received on a certain area of the Slavic region that was engaging in discussions of a most interesting nature.  He _had_ tried to follow doctor’s orders, but, of course, Sherlock had different ideas…

__________

      “Good lord, Sherlock, how much farther are we to go?”

      “You have every inch of London memorized, brother, so your question is nothing but petulance and agitated custard.”

      “We have been walking for a fortnight.”

      “Untrue, for Cook prepares your favorite roast chicken on Thursdays and I have no memory of consuming two chickens while we have been walking.”

Horrid boy.  Did he not notice the… people?  And horses.  The various urchins running hither and yon.  He could be filling his lungs with the scent of his own library right now instead of the pungency of this accursed street.  And all for a lecture that would surely hold no interest for him.  In fact…

      “Sherlock, for what reason are you even desiring to attend this presentation?  You have little interest in anything beyond the confines of your scientific research.”

      “True, but, though it is certainly not their intent, the buffoons who trample across the unexplored regions of the world occasionally learn something of scientific interest.  Supposedly, this particular buffoon has some experience with poisons used by the native population of the area he desecrated with his presence.”

Poisons.  Yes, that rather did explain everything.  If the gentleman giving the lecture possessed a severed head or two for display, Sherlock’s night would truly be made.

      “I see.  And you are hopeful that he brought with him to England samples of said poisons.”

      “I did not say that.  However, if samples _do_ exist, then it would be my duty to see them analyzed with the most advanced of scientific techniques, which only I possess.”

      “Naturally.  Well, I do hope you use a gentle hand with your persuasions as I hear these explorer types are rather… vigorous and possessed of no reticence about making their arguments through fisticuffs rather than discourse.”

Sherlock slid his narrowed gaze towards his brother and seethed at the slight, pleased smile on Mycroft’s face.

      “I am well-practiced in boxing, as you know, and will happily take up fists if it helps to advance science.”

      “Of course, of course.  And lo!  Our journey’s terminus looms.  I shall begin handing out wager slips in case we are provided with another entertainment this evening besides an oration on the topic of insects and heat.”

Sherlock decided if an altercation did erupt, he immediately would throw his brother into the fray.  At the very least, Mycroft could sit on his opponent while he convinced him to turn over any relevant toxicological samples.  His brother had to be useful for _something_ in this world besides the hurling around of hot air…

__________

Mycroft had to admit he recognized a number of the faces in the crowd and, further, that the crowd was somewhat a substantial one.  From the scraps of conversation he overheard, the speaker was a rather noted example of the breed and the anticipation level of the audience certainly supported that fact.  Perhaps, by some immeasurable miracle, the night would not be as onerous as he had predicted.

      “Well, Sherlock… you are yet to transform into a mummy, so I shall assume the audience is not as dry and dull as you had expected.”

      “I hydrated to excess before we departed.”

      “A remarkable bit of forethought.  And am I to know what is the actual topic of tonight’s gathering?”

Sherlock huffed and rose to obtain a small leaflet to hand to Mycroft who found his curiosity completely unresolved.

      “This says nothing.”

      “Oh, is the page blank?”

      “We are to hear a lecture on… adventure.”

      “Were you spoken to by a spirit?  Did the ghost of the vanished ink impart unto you its wisdom?”

      “Sherlock, if this is to be some outlandish teller of tales…”

      “In truth, I do not know, however, I _do_ know there was some excitement when it was learned your tale-teller was returning to London.  Apparently, he is… colorful.”

      “Oh, dear heavens…”

      “I am prepared to ignore this attribute if he provides substantive data and I _do_ plan to ask questions.”

That, in itself, could be worth the effort of their ordeal across London.  Sherlock’s ability to discombobulate another human into a quivering mass of bluster was a thing to behold.

      “Lestrade… you are certain he is English?  Smacks of the French, if you ask me.”

      “That should be better for you, as I know you enjoy French cuisine and if he disappoints with his lecture, you can use the tub of butter you carry in your pocket to make a nice sauce for his Gallic flesh and pass the evening as you would normally when you have your late-evening snack about which you continue to assume I know nothing.”

Of course Sherlock knew about his post-dinner nibble.  If not, he would have no reason to hide the biscuits, bread and jam from Sherlock’s long and thieving fingers.

      “Cannibalism… that would certainly be something of interest to our fellow attendees.  I have never been called upon to entertain such an august body, however, I will endeavor to do my best.”

Sherlock gave his brother a glare, mostly because Mycroft was smugly proud of his retort and raced to deliver his own in return, when tonight’s moderator approached the lectern to begin his introduction of the guest of honor.  Good.  This would give him copious time to think of something truly scathing…

For his part, Mycroft settled back in his seat and prepared, frankly, to drift quickly into his own thoughts.  He had met a few of this sort before, truth be told, as they were occasionally useful sources of information relevant to governmental interests, and found them either to be oddly bookish and uninspiring or brash and boorish, none of which sparked a mote of his interest.  He could turn attention again to the proceedings when the inquiry portion of the evening began and Sherlock was let loose from his chain.  At that point…

_Now, this was interesting…_

Mycroft took a long look as the man of the hour took position to speak and did it again, for good measure.  Though he was always extremely careful to give no indication of his preferences, he had known from a very young age that his attraction was for men and despite it burning inside him with the weakest of flames, that fire was warming quite interestingly at the moment for this Lestrade was _stunning_ …

      “What is wrong with you?  You appear as if you are going to suffer a heart attack and I assure you I will not take time to summon your physician until I am well and truly sure I have wrung from this simian’s clutches all possible information relevant to my interests.”

Waving off his brother’s nonsense, Mycroft ran his eyes once again over the strong form of the speaker.  Lean hips and full shoulders accentuated by the regalia one expected from an explorer of the deepest jungles.  A complexion heavily touched by the rays of the tropical sun. And his hair… the silver that accentuated his walking stick in no way compared to the vibrant hue of the man’s lustrous hair.  Not young, which actually enhanced the appeal, but still radiating a virility that further stoked the small pile of embers that were heating his core.

With any luck, the man would demonstrate a profound intellectual flaccidity and do it quickly so he would not have to investigate this feeling any more deeply.  It was… bothersome.  Juvenile and distracting. And… oh.  This was distressing.  Mr. Lestrade’s voice was positively _obscene_ …


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For an idea of how I picture Mycroft and Lestrade in this story, [this is a fairly good approximation...](http://eventhorizon451.tumblr.com/post/124520864076/if-you-wanted-to-know-how-i-picture-greg-and)

Colorful… that was surely the word for it.  The explorer spoke with an unbridled enthusiasm and theatrical air that elevated his words to nearly an operatic level.  And his hands… if Lestrade contracted some form of palsy affecting his limbs, the poor man would be rendered speechless as he scarcely uttered a phrase that was not punctuated by the most emphatic and… amusing… of gesticulations.  Whereas he had expected a droning recitation of travel anecdotes, this was nothing of the sort.  A storytelling performance worthy of the stage was closer to the mark and Sherlock was actually behaving, which was stellar praise in and of itself.  This was _not_ what he had expected for the evening, however… he could not find himself minding the unforeseen turn of events in the least.

      “Good, he is making his concluding remarks.  Now, the important matters can be attended to.”

      “Oh, do you need to urinate, brother dear?”

Mycroft stoically bore Sherlock trying to set him on fire with the power of his mind and turned his attention back to more interesting things, such as the large, bright smile of the man who was proudly accepting the appreciative applause of his audience.

      “So… anyone have a question for me?”

Sherlock’s hand flew up so fast Mycroft was certain he saw the air scattering in surprise, but smiled a large, internal smile because here the making of the man would be proved.  Anyone could present a prepared, rehearsed speech, but to think on one’s feet… to handle what was hurled in one’s direction without forewarning… that was not something for the weak of mind.  This would be quite the thing to watch…

__________

_How utterly fascinating…_

Slowly rising from his chair to stand next to his visibly-anxious brother, Mycroft reflected on the fact that he had been somewhat convinced the more interactive portion of the evening would be characterized by rather inane questions, barring Sherlock’s contribution and, in this case, he was correct.  He had also expected answers that might provide pablum for a lesser mind, but would fail to stimulate anyone of appreciable intellect.  In this, he could not have been more wrong.  Firstly, if this Lestrade did not know the answer, he said so in no uncertain terms, demonstrating a self-confidence and measure of character for which most in the city were certainly not known.  And these items were notably few.  The majority of the audience’s inquiries were thoroughly and knowledgably addressed, including Sherlock’s multitude of esoteric and multi-part queries.  Sherlock’s arm, in fact, was raised nearly constantly and the explorer fellow very deftly acknowledged him with a ‘just a moment’ gesture to ensure other participants could speak, but always returned to Sherlock after every few questions so his brother was never wholly ignored.  A notable intellect and nimble mind, as well.  This was truly intriguing…

      “That was not entirely useless.”

If any further proof was needed for the quality of the evening, it had just been given.

      “Really, Sherlock?  You scarcely had a single question to ask our presenter.”

Sherlock’s snort shook the foundation of the building, but the shine in his eyes told Mycroft his brother had a _very_ pleasurable time and had truly hoped for even greater interaction with the subject and the lecturer.  In fact, Sherlock seemed to be looking around to find Mr. Lestrade to further wrest information from his lips.

      “I had a legion more, however, I was, as you noticed, shamefully ignored and given the sparsest amount of the dirt-grubber’s attention.”

      “Got to learn to share, lad.  You can’t have all my attention when there are other people who might want a piece of what I’m offering.”

Sherlock and Mycroft turned to find their speaker standing behind them, hands on his hips and a smile on his lips.

      “I fail to see why not?  Half of the questions were repetitive because half of the audience is too deaf to hear what has already been asked and the other half had no scientific merit whatsoever.”

Unlike most people who would be offended by his brother’s behavior, Mycroft certainly made note that their speaker seemed not at all to be put off by the acerbity.

      “Won’t say you don’t have a point, but those questions were asked because they were interested and interest in _anything_ is something to encourage.  From what I can tell, you have a _lot_ of interest in things.  That’s a grand thing to see, especially with a young lad like you.”

      “My age is immaterial for I am genius.  And, since you are seeing fit to accost my ears with your opinions, you will repay my patience by addressing the remainder of my questions.  I would prefer they be answered in the order I pose them, however…”

There was acerbity, and then there was rudeness and the line had now been handily crossed…

      “Sherlock!  Good lord, brother, do allow the man to have a small respite from his presentation and mingle with the other attendees.  I am certain if there is time to spare, he will be happy to answer one or two further of your inquiries.”

      “Perhaps they are serving cake to celebrate the evening, Mycroft.  Why don’t you go and find a piece or twelve to further plump your posterior and leave me to conduct my research.”

No, a public venue was not at all sufficient to forestall his brother’s juvenility…

      “Hey!  First, I don’t appreciate rude behavior from anyone _to_ anyone, so you keep a civil tongue, young man.  And second… what’s wrong with a bit of plump in one’s rump?  Makes sitting a lot more comfortable and… well, there are some _other_ things made more comfortable, too, but you’re too young and tender to know about them.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened at the impropriety but… it rather fit Mr. Lestrade, truth be told.  And the explorer’s slightly wicked grin said he was very aware of that fact.

      “I am immediately going to seek a jar of acid to swallow so I have not to live a moment more with that image in my mind.”

      “Well, that’s your choice, but you won’t get your questions answered that way, will you?  You won’t be able to ask anything, what with no throat or any bits to make any sound.  You might want to think about that again.”

Sherlock tried his human immolation glare again and found it as useless on this infuriating man as it was on his brother.

      “I tell you what.  I don’t know about cake, but I do know there’s punch or whisky or something to help part some of these gents with their money for my next expedition, so why don’t go you and find some for us.  Drinks, not money, though I’ll take that, too.  The number of glasses you bring back equals the number of questions I’ll answer and if you _do_ find whisky, I’ll double that.  So, off you go and let’s see how well you do.”

Mycroft had been watching the exchange with growing interest and, frankly, astonishment, both of which skyrocketed as Sherlock narrowed his eyes and stormed off on his quest.  There was really no precedence for this…

      “I must congratulate you, Mr. Lestrade.  There are few who would engage with Sherlock for any reason and fewer still who could emerge the victor in the battle of words.  His, shall we say, exuberance, rather often takes people aback.”

      “Exuberance is a good thing, from where I stand.  Passion, exuberance, thirst for knowledge and adventure… all what life’s about.  So… how’d _you_ like my talk?”

Was that… I say, sir, you should monitor your intonations more carefully for that skirted perilously close to… familiarity.  I shall, however, in the spirit of conviviality, fail to chide you for it.

      “I found it most interesting, actually.  I had not expected such a spirited delivery, but found it enlivened your content most agreeably.”

      “Thank you!  I like to give the people a show for coming out on a cold, wet London night.  And, if it’s not too forward of me, might I ask your name?  I’ve got the lad’s but I’m always happy to add another to my collection.”

Forward?  If the man knew the meaning of the word it was likely one scribed in a dictionary put together by those who were profoundly unknowing of the English language.  Forward… sir, you are its epitome.

      “Of course.  Mycroft Holmes, at your service.”

      “Mycroft… that’s a fine name.  Not something I’m likely to forget, now is it?”

Were there no bounds to the man’s… lack of social boundaries?  If he addressed everyone in such a manner, it was a marvel he had not been drummed out of polite society ages ago.

      “Yes, it is rather unique.  Now, I believe you made mention of your next expedition.  I take it you are not in London for long, Mr. Lestrade?”

      “I always have another expedition in planning!  Some days I wish I didn’t have to come back to London at all, but I have to uphold my part of the bargain, you know?  Bring new information back for the academics and stories for the public.  They pay for me to spend my life having grand adventures, so I have to do something to earn that opportunity.  And it’s not bad, really.  Mind a few crates of artifacts on the return to England and give a few talks to those who want to listen.  Do you like flowers?”

Mycroft actually looked around to see if anyone had joined them in the conversation.

      “Pardon?”

      “I just wanted to know if you liked flowers, because I’m giving another talk in a couple of days for the botanical and horti… horti…”

      “Horticultural?”

      “That’s the one!  Botanical and horticultural societies and it’s about plants and flowers.  You should come and bring that brother of yours.  I have lots of dried specimens for people to look at and a few collections of sketches, too.  That’s if you enjoy plants and flowers, of course.”

This was unexpected.  As few individuals sought out Sherlock’s company, even fewer sought out _his_ for anything beyond matters of state and anything besides the most perfunctory and socially-obligated invitations did not make their way into the hands of Mycroft Holmes.

      “I am certain it shall be a scintillating gathering, however, I am not certain my schedule will permit it.”

      “Oh.  Well, if there’s something I understand it’s being busy with things.  Not having a moment to spare from the second you step out of bed until you slide back into it.  I always bring a stack of books with me when I go back to Africa and half of them don’t see a page read because I just don’t have the time to spare.”

      “I would think your evenings would be quite in need of entertainment, given the paucity of entertainments available.”

Of course, London was _rife_ with entertainment possibilities, yet Mycroft found himself in the same situation as the explorer most nights of the week.  The existence of possibility did not mean it was snatched and acted upon.

      “There’s lots of entertainments, actually.  Listening to stories and music from the natives we hire to help us move things along.  I’ve got maps to pore over and talk about with our guides, so even if we don’t make it to a certain area, you can hear the stories and legends and descriptions they’ve got to tell.  I keep a journal to collect all of that information in, as well as what we encounter every day, so that’s an hour or two I try to put in every day when I can.  I draw what I’ve seen, too, though there are others who are much better at it than I am.  That’s all besides the games of chance we might fall into, too, even if we have naught but nuts and rocks to wager.  When we find a village or larger settlement, that does open up other possibilities.  I admit there aren’t any music halls or gambling houses to pass the time in, usually, but a creative man can always find something to do, you know what I mean?”

Mycroft could not imagine a more ghastly experience, though, in fairness, anything that involved leaving the house had a tremendous chance of being classed in a similar fashion.

      “I was rather thinking of cultural events and visits to the London’s museums and venues of historical interest.”

      “That, too!  Not forgetting any of that.  All of that’s brilliant when you can find it.  Talks about flowers and plants, for instance.  In fact, I might know of one coming up that will be very cultural and not have a dancing girl in sight.”

It was entirely improper to smile at the foolishness, but Mycroft found himself wrestling back that very thing and hoped his efforts were going unnoticed by the man who was looking very pleased at his closing the circle of this bit of conversation.

      “If time permits, I shall give it due consideration.”

      “Great!  Always hoping to help people learn as much as possible about places they’ve never been.  And look who’s here!  With three glasses of… you _did_ find whisky!  Well done, lad.  That’s six questions for you.”

Sherlock shoved a glass into Mycroft’s and Lestrade’s hands and tried to understand how someone could actually still be talking to his lethally-dull brother.  If pressed, he would admit that Mycroft’s dullness was not _instantly_ fatal, but the subjects on  which his brother typically conversed held no interest for common minds, a description that certainly matched the grinning hyena now sipping marginal-quality whisky.

      “Then I shall begin.  Number one…”

Mycroft actually found himself smiling as the attention moved from him to his brother and Sherlock interrogated the explorer, who patiently answered question with as much detail as Sherlock needed to consider the matter settled.  This was not the way in which most people interacted with Sherlock, however… it was the way he had _wished_ people could find it in their hearts to interact with his brother, who thrived on information, but lacked the interpersonal skills needed to make others willing to spend time with him for a meaningful conversation to actually take place.  This Lestrade was an impertinent  individual, however, one could not deny his rather rakish manner’s effect on Sherlock.  Patient!  His _patient_ manner was helpful for Sherlock.  The rakish aspect was completely unnecessary and exceedingly improper.

      “Well, that was exhausting!  But it does a brain good to get some exercise now and then, so I’ll say thank you for really making me have to work like a horse on a farm.  Reminds me of long days slashing through the jungle… your muscles get so tired sometimes that your arms and legs are useless jelly when you finally find a place to set up camp for the night.  You’ve jellied my brain, Sherlock, and that’s never happened before.  You should be proud because a man’s first is someone he always remembers.”

Sherlock glared at Mycroft who had failed to hold back a completely inappropriate snort of laughter, but had no time to try and eliminate his confusion at Lestrade’s rambling speech because there were far more critical things to be settled.

      “I have no idea why you are discussing jelly, except as it pertains to Mycroft’s incipient gout, however, as it does _not_ pertain to my accessing your samples of poison, I shall consider it a thing of the past.”

      “Remember what I said about being rude?  That hasn’t changed in the few minutes since I last said it.  One more nasty thing out of your mouth about your brother and you can forget ever laying a finger on anything I may have brought back with me.”

Sherlock’s indignant response was cut short by the implication that he _was_ going to get his hands on his prize and his characteristic scowl was replaced by an intensely anticipatory expression that made Mycroft’s heart swell with pride.  His brother’s curiosity and desire to learn was insatiable and he never refused an opportunity to capitalize on any offer of knowledge that might be proffered.  Now, if his brother could only find a productive means of using that curiosity and the vast intellect that contained it, life would truly be blissful. 

      “Mycroft is officially no longer a part of this conversation.  Therefore, I am confused as to why are we still standing here listening to the wheezing of the octogenarian set when valuable research is waiting to begin?”

Lestrade laughed and clinked his glass with Mycroft, who startled slightly at the gesture.

      “At least he’s happy to spread around his bad manners so they don’t get too thick in one place.  That’s very courteous, actually.”

Sherlock’s audible huff was ignored by Lestrade who smiled at Mycroft, hoping to coax a smile in return.  Seeing what might have been a slight twitch at the corner of Mycroft’s mouth, the explorer added a little wink to his smile and laughed at his target’s nearly inaudible gasp of shock.  Of course, Mycroft could not allow that slip to let stand as a defeat.

      “Good heavens, sir.  Are you suffering ophthalmic problems?  If so, I might recommend to you a very qualified practitioner to see the difficulty remedied.”

Lestrade laughed and gave Mycroft a little bow to acknowledge a worthy foe.  Not that ‘foe’ was what he hoped the older Holmes brother would come to be.  There were a lot of talents in his personal trunk of abilities and one was to notice when someone was noticing _him_.  Nobody else might have caught the signs he’d seen while speaking, because they’d never had the signs thrown them by another bloke, but _he_ could, and there were two things he knew for certain.  First, Mycroft Holmes had a taste for men and second, _this_ particular dashing gent was a man Mycroft found worth giving signs over.  The question to explore though… was Mr. Mycroft Holmes willing to act on any of that?  Right now… he’d say no, but it wasn’t the Lestrade way to let someone this gorgeous and smart slip though his fingers without giving it his best effort…

      “Actually… I was going to talk about poisons in my next lecture and have to get a display ready for people to view afterwards.  Why don’t you come to that talk, lad, and if you can’t get enough information from what I’ve brought for viewing, then we can see about getting you a chance to have a better look.”

      “Testing!  I require samples for testing.”

      “Right, you’ve got something sciency planned.  Well, come to my talk anyway and you can get a good idea of how the native population uses plants for poison and medicine and decoration and other things.  Then… I might be able to sneak you a little bit for your science.  Technically, none of that belongs to me, but… we’ll see.  Here… and bring your brother along, too.  I think he’ll enjoy it.”

Lestrade dug into his pocket and handed Sherlock a crumpled flyer with the information about his upcoming talk and grinned at Mycroft’s theatrical rolling of his eyes.

      “Now, I’ve got to go and do a little smiling and hand-shaking.  It was good to meet both of you and… I hope I’ll be seeing you again, soon.”

Mycroft gave the explorer a nod and a polite ‘good evening, Mr. Lestrade,’ and certainly did not keep his peripheral vision tuned to the sight of the man swaggering away towards a cluster of guests who seemed very happy to make his acquaintance.

      “He should make what I require available to me _now_.”

      “Sherlock… against all possible expectations, something which even _you_ must admit, Mr. Lestrade was content to provide you with a bounty of information and does seem very willing to do what he can to assist you with any research  endeavours that you might currently be contemplating.  I would say the evening has been a spectacularly successful one for you and that if you must wait a few days to acquire what you need for your analyses, it is a pitifully-small price to pay.”

      “One should have to pay _no_ prices for the advancement of scientific knowledge.  And we must attend another stultifying lecture!”

      “Are you now so egotistical that you have taken to employing the royal ‘we,’ brother dear?”

      “I am being objectively descriptive, because the addition of you to me, emetic though the idea may be, equals we.”

      “Dear me, I had no idea you had poetic aspirations!”

      “If I have to attend a tedious presentation on flora, so must you.”

      “In that, you are most incorrect.  My responsibilities for the next week or so will scarcely permit me to sleep, let alone listen to stories about roses and the like.”

      “Are there roses in Africa?”

      “I believe they are not unheard of.”

      “But you are not certain.  Therefore, that will be your question to ask the braggart after his next speech.  Come, this whisky has made my mouth taste of arsenic and I need to study my equipment inventory to prepare for my upcoming experiments with poisons.”

Sherlock looked around, then balanced his empty glass on the head of the bust of what Mycroft recognized as the first president of the RGS and began to stalk towards the door, stopping once to glare at Lestrade who waved cheekily in return.  For his part, Mycroft set _both_ glasses on small table and made a more sedate exit, in no manner paying heed to the silver-haired explorer who watched each of Mycroft’s steps and let his eyes linger on their memory once the elder Holmes had left the room.  Stately… that was the word to use.  Mycroft Holmes was a mature, stately man and that was a very attractive combination.  And wouldn’t that beard feel nice if it… no, no thinking about Mycroft’s beard and what it might feel like because not even his ‘he’s an explorer, so one must make allowances’ status would excuse a very public erection.  A few days to his next talk… would there be one brother there or two?  Might want to give his boots a bit of a polish, just in case…


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft sipped his tea and let his mind free for a moment to wander.  Sherlock had spoken of nothing but their outing on the walk home and continued on once they returned, while making point of consuming the last of the excellent lemon sponge Cook had prepared for lunch, assuming quite rightly, that it was earmarked to accompany this lovely cup of tea as the capstone of _his_ night.

Not that a capstone was required, to be truthful.  What a _splendid_ evening it had been.  Sherlock had been engaged in the presentation and, for him, his conduct had been laudable, which was a once-in-a-decade phenomenon.  Further, despite the needless physical activity and soul-draining proximity to humanity, it had been a pleasant night for him as well, something quite rare in his life.  He was not averse to acquiring knowledge in areas not proximally relevant to his own interests and he had certainly added various facts and perspectives to his mental portfolio.  Handily laying to rest the notion that he was currently rotting like an old fish in a Sherlock-crafted tomb was another positive mark in the evening’s ledger and would spare them all some appreciable aggravation in the weeks to come.

And, of course… there was the exceedingly aberrant aspect that was Mr. Lestrade.  What to make of that?  The man had only a marginal sense of tolerable behavior and seemed to delight in his saucy tongue and mannerisms.  To his credit, he did remain… mostly… on the acceptable side of decency and his attempts at wit were not a mechanism to hide a deficient mind, however, he was a _vexing_ individual and that really was the sparest of descriptions.  It was unusual for any person to provoke an appreciable emotional response in him and when it occurred it was generally along the lines of disgust or frustration, but tonight’s experience was far, far different.  These stirrings were in an entirely different area though, perhaps, ‘emotional’ was an incorrect designation.  The perturbation of one’s sexual humors was not precisely an emotional thing; it was more an involuntary response to… the appropriate stimulus… much as one’s hungry stomach might burble when the aroma of a cooling pie was in the air and there was certainly was no emotion in that.

Setting aside his cup for Mrs. Hudson to collect, Mycroft decided the lack of explosion or malodorous waft from Sherlock’s private laboratory space signaled his brother had either fallen into one of his research journals or, better still, into his bed and it was time to follow suit.  Slowly climbing up the stairs, Mycroft continued to his bedroom and began the process of undressing for the night, pointedly reminding himself that his determination to catch not even a glance of his body in the mirror was a matter of modesty and nothing more.

In truth, he was quite content with his form and saw no reason to affect any changes, despite Sherlock’s shrieking and doomsaying.  He was a large man, a heavy one, but he appreciated his proportions and so did his tailor.  His largish belly was balanced by an equally large bottom, his fleshy arms found their mates in his thick-set thighs.  His chest was ample, but it contributed quite successfully to the picture he knew he presented.  A man of wealth and comfort.  Yes, his appetites were large, but he had the means to support those appetites and his figure was testament to that fact, something Mummy had taken great pains to point out the few times, in his youth, that she had tried to secure for him a wife.  Fortunately, a delicate conversation involving much of-the-day vocabulary and innuendo had burned from her the desire to continue on that path and a comforting gin-laced tisane had prevented any fainting or vapors from his rather rambling disclosure.  Another two were necessary when he broke the news about Sherlock.

There was a part of him that wondered, however, and only fleetingly and academically, of course, if such a consequential frame would be found pleasing by someone who did not care about how well the household larder was kept stocked and the quality of the furnishings in one’s sitting room.  Used purely for the purposes of intellectual contemplation, consider the example of Mr. Lestrade.  He certainly cared for none of those things or he would not be gallivanting through the wilds of Africa and he unquestionably was not possessed of comparable dimensions.  Likely, he would have muscular legs and arms from the physical labor of his profession.  There was sure to remain some definition to his chest and abdomen, however it would be moderated by a plushness that befall all with age.  Walking and climbing would have given him a… no, there would be no rumination on the beastly man’s bottom.  That anatomical region was forever off-limits for reflection.

A man with such a sculpted and work-hardened body… would he desire someone with similar proportions or would he prefer someone who offered contrast?  Not that Mr. Lestrade shared his leanings, obviously, but the hypothetical elements of the question were still sound.  Unfortunately, though, the answer was one he had not the mental apparatus to construct.  There were few areas of life that had that been exempt from his attention, but this was one of them, so he had very little to bring to bear for analysis.  Ultimately, however, it was an issue of no real importance, so allowing it to stand unclarified would not be a hardship.  It was not as if he would even see the man in question again.

Donning his nightshirt, Mycroft settled into bed and set his mental alarm for an early rise.  What he had neglected this evening would require his attention first thing tomorrow and, then, he had a full day of other items demanding his attention.  Tonight had its intrigue, but that was quite enough for him for a very long time.  His next night of relaxation would proceed in a far different and far more restful manner…

__________

      “Why are you not prepared to leave?”

Sherlock glared at his brother who looked up from his desk and sighed at Sherlock’s typical brusqueness.

      “For the reason that I have nothing for which to leave and no intention to do so as a lark.”

      “You _have_ a reason, you are simply attempting to ignore it.  I will obtain your coat.”

      “Sherlock… as you can see, I am most busy and do not have the time to spare for a lecture concerning flowers.  As you are fully provided with the information about the presentation, including the location and commencement time, there is nothing for which you need me.”

      “You are coming.”

      “I am not.  I have far too much to tend to this evening and you, despite occasional appearances, are not a child.  Please, go and enjoy yourself.  Time willing, I will sit with you when you return and you may regale me with the highlights of your night.”

      “Firstly, you have not taken any form of exercise since last we walked to a lecture and secondly, I refuse to attend alone.”

      “Firstly, I will gladly have my physician stop in tomorrow and alleviate your fears that my weight is in the slow process of murdering me and…”

      “He is a charlatan.  He pronounced me dead when I very much was not.”

      “The issue, I believe, was the worry that the infection you acquired through failing to properly tend to the gash on your hand from your knife-mark-in-beef heart experiment, could become most severe, however, I do not remember a call being placed to the undertaker.”

      “Charlatan.  I avoided his poultices completely and my hand healed perfectly well.”

      “You created your own poultices based on his model and employed them instead.”

      “As I said… charlatan.  I have no formal medical training, yet I healed myself easily.”

      “Shall we move on to your second objection, which is childish in the extreme?”

      “It is not childish.  It is strategic.”

      “Oh?  How so?”

      “Firstly…”

      “Oh dear lord…”

      “FIRSTLY, it is one of the few benefits of your bulk that you will block the view of the audience from the lectern so I will be the focus of attention for the questions part of the presentation.”

      “I believe that particular slight has fully removed from your expectation even the discussion of the material with me later this evening.”

      “Pfffttt.  Secondly…”

      “Yes?”

      “In the event that Lestrade is being infuriating and refuses to answer my questions or accede to my requests, you will persuade him to do so.”

That was not at all what Mycroft had expected.

      “Sherlock… why would you possibly believe that I would be able to gain for you what you cannot gain yourself, especially as your methods would be far more obtrusive and irritating than would mine?”

      “He spoke with you.”

      “As he did many others.  If you remember, Mr. Lestrade specifically made mention of hoping to solicit goodwill for funding his next expedition.  I am certain he hoped my purse was a deep one.”

      “You are as unobservant as a herring.  No one speaks with you unless commanded to do so or it is an accidental thing.  The latter then quickly make their excuses in order to save themselves from being bored into a stupor.  Lestrade did not.  Further, he made a point of asking you to attend tonight’s talk and your receiving an invitation such as that has not occurred… period.  You will use this to my advantage should it become necessary.”

 Mycroft sighed again, this time accompanied by a world-weary groan that made Sherlock smile brightly for it generally signaled his brother’s downfall.

      “Brother dear, I concede you have taken time to formulate an argument that you find credible, however, I feel you are considerably in error in your assumptions.”

      “The only manner in which that can be verified is through your attendance and this shall stand as my third reason for you accompanying me - I must prove that you are addlepated.  I will get your coat.”

Sherlock strode out of his brother’s study and Mycroft took a moment to look over the work that was stacked on his desk.  A great deal rested on his study of these papers and the ‘suggestions’ he would script based on their evaluation, however… Sherlock was actually hoping for further interaction with Mr. Lestrade and his brother never had a bit trepidation about seeking out those who had what he desired and wresting it from them through any means possible.  For this situation, Sherlock was seeking _his_ presence and that was highly unusual.  Either he was sufficiently interested in his questions and samples that he worried for the first time his behaviors might alienate Lestrade and lose him his prizes or… or he worried about alienating that very rare person who showed him kindness.  Regardless, this was a notable, and encouraging, deviation from Sherlock’s norm and he would be a poor brother if he did not show support.  And if he saw no sleep tonight, he could still have this matter concluded by tomorrow morning, a situation that was more _his_ norm than finding rest at a reasonable hour each night.

      “Why are you still sitting?”

Ah Sherlock… a bit anxious, are we?

      “Because my chair has grown arms and is holding me fast.”

      “Do you require a moment alone to consummate your furnishings fetish?”

      “Not at this time, but I shall rethink your offer if we cross paths with a comely settee.”

Sherlock snorted loudly and tossed Mycroft’s coat and accessories onto the desk, adopting a perfect ‘I’m waiting’ posture and tapping his foot until Mycroft had himself properly adorned to brave the evening air.

      “Good.  We must set a brisk pace as I insist on sitting in front so Lestrade cannot wave off my inquiries with the excuse I was not seen.”

Brisk?  If the boy believed this night would be characterized, in any manner, by briskness, he was sadly mistaken.  Brisk was not a word with which Mycroft had any cordiality and that would not be changing today…

__________

At least the earliness of their arrival and subsequent prominent placement in the audience spared him from the sea of hats and plumes of the ladies who were present and Mycroft had to admit than if they were seated in the rear, Sherlock might have cause to stand on his chair and do a jig to attract the attention of the speaker.

      “Ugh… there are more people here to discuss violets and lavender than for the more edifying presentation.”

      “Horticulture is a venerable pastime, Sherlock.”

      “You _would_ know.”

      “Nonsense.”

      “Oh, then I am mistaken in that when we visit the manor, you immediately begin to berate the gardener for the state of the flowers and hedges, further offering distinct points of correction that must be set in place if he is to retain employment?”

      “You are suffering some form of delusion.  Perhaps we should return home and find for you a soothing compress for your forehead.”

      “And I know, very much for a fact, embarrassing though it be for you, that you participated in your own experiments as a youth for cross-breeding varieties of snapdragons.”

      “A compress and some lemon water to help cleanse your liver.”

Sherlock’s rude noise started the gentleman next to him and Mycroft hoped the man would have his brother evicted for such a display.  Snapdragons… his brother was infantile at times.  It had been hollyhocks…

      “Be silent, Mycroft.  We are about to begin.”

And that did seem to be true.  The usual introduction was underway and then… oh my.  Mr. Lestrade was as crisply, yet casually, presented as for his last speech but with the addition of a broad-brimmed hat that raised the image of the stalwart adventurer standing on the plains of the Serengeti.  And… did he just wink?  The man should be drawn and quartered...

__________

If Sherlock’s reputation as an eccentric was not yet well and truly cemented, the plethora of questions concerning methods to commit plant-based murder would fully win him the designation.  Of course, Mr. Lestrade would be painted with the same black brush for he answered each with a most unsettling level of detail.

      “I feel unclean.”

      “Sherlock… you were asked to hold the young woman’s gloves only for the length of time required for her to open her bag to receive them from your veritable grip of death.”

      “I am still shuddering from the experience.”

Hence Sherlock’s avoidance of all social functions such as teas and dances in his youth.  The size of Mummy’s headaches and the quantity of apologies she was obligated to script in the aftermath was the stuff of legends.

      “And now you are experiencing chills?  Truly, Sherlock, I am fearful for your health and suggest most strongly that we return home for your compress, lemon water and, now, a hefty duvet to warm your icy bones.”

      “You will not shirk your responsibility to me, Mycroft, or the consequences will be dire.”

      “I already have to walk nearly the distance to purgatory to return home, so what further atrocity could you possibly perpetrate on me?”

      “I will consult my prepared list and choose the most appropriate candidate.”

Number 23 was particularly odious and Sherlock _did_ appear to be prepared for odiousness if the occasion arose.

      “Very well.  Lah de dah and fiddle dee dee… my, what a pleasant time I am having.”

      “You are simply sour because Lestrade is speaking to that clutch of young and undoubtedly unmarried women.”

Balderdash.  And one was thirty if she was a day.

      “That is ridiculous.  It is to be expected that Mr. Lestrade would speak with those in attendance and the ladies likely have great interest in floral matters.”

      “They have great interest in _Lestrade_.  The unwholesome aroma of carnality is stinging my nasal epithelia.”

Rubbish.  Utter and ineffable twaddle.  Conversation and carnality were, in no manner, linked.  The mere idea was lunacy.

      “What?  No attempt at a pithy rebuttal?  I see…”

      “What you see is none of my concern, brother dear.”

      “I think it is very much your concern, actually.  The curiosity is painting your visage the most distasteful shade of vermilion.  Or is it embarrassment?  Regardless, you appear as an overripe cherry that is about to burst.  As I have no wish to be stained with your fermented juices, I am going to stand over here.”

Sherlock took three of his long steps away and positioned himself so that he could glare at Lestrade and attempt to mentally teleport him to their side of the room.  Unfortunately, in Mycroft’s opinion, his brother’s sorcery worked its wonders and the explorer doffed his hat to his admirers and made his way across.

      “Sherlock!  A bad day for your bowels or is there another reason you’ve got that look on your face?”

      “If you are hoping to parlay your speaking engagements into a career on the stage as a teller of jokes, Lestrade, let me be the first to say you will die in poverty.”

      “Good to know!  And Mycroft… it’s nice to see you.  Did you enjoy the talk?”

      “It was most informative.”

      “He wishes to discuss roses and snapdragons with you.  Before you die from boredom, you will show me the location of your poison samples so that something might be salvaged from this evening.”

      “Roses and snapdragons, huh?  Well, I’ll do my best, but that’s going to end at the gate of my mum’s garden and my childhood memories.”

      “Sherlock exaggerates as I am certain you have come to understand.”

      “That is a lie!  Mycroft perpetrated unspeakable acts of floral fornication in his youth and that is the unbiased truth.”

No, do not smile at my brother’s ghastly turn of phrase.  Already Sherlock will be visited by the constabulary if a death by poisoning occurs within the next six months and he should have no reward for adding a charge of public indecency to his arrest.

      “Now, that sounds interesting.  Tell me more.”

      “Mr. Lestrade, please do not encourage my brother.  He is already but a hair’s breadth from being confined to a restful location in the country and I would rather not see that happen until I have found an agreeable gentleman to rent his room.”

      “It’s a deal.  Sorry, Sherlock.  No more encouragement from me until your brother says it’s alright.  Did you two get to look at anything?  I admit it’s a bit of a crush around the displays, but they’re actually pretty well done, if I do say so myself, and I’d hate for you to miss them.”

      “I have no interest in your sketches of grass and gardenias.”

      “Alright then, Sherlock.  Mycroft, may I offer to show you my grassy drawings?”

      “That would be most delightful, however, I believe your female guests might not be content to be without your attention for that long a time.”

Mycroft had no idea what _this_ smile was about, but it was doing unhealthy things to his heart rhythm.  Perhaps he _should_ share a measure of Sherlock’s concerns for his health…

      “Oh… they’ll be alright.  I’ll be back to chat with them at some point, so I have plenty of time to spend with you.”

      “And me!”

      “Change your mind about my seeing my etchings, lad?”

      “No, but I refuse to be ignored.”

      “Fair enough.  Come on, I’ll show you the ones I did personally.  They’re the nicest, by far.”

Sherlock’s response was as rude as might be expected and Mycroft found he didn’t have the heart to chastise him over it.  Lestrade was positively shameless and deserved a morsel of disrespect to chew upon.  Not that the man seemed to mind, which should probably be expected given he was an unrepentant rogue, but the principle was sound and Mycroft Holmes was certainly a man of principle…

__________

      “What do you think, Mycroft?”

That the explorer had honest talents for his work and his arrogant nature did not diminish his accomplishments and the obvious effort and dedication necessary to achieve them.  Damn him.

      “The technical accuracy cannot be denied.”

      “And they’re gorgeous, too, aren’t they?”

It would harm nothing to be collegial.

      “Yes, they are.  It must be a very pleasant experience for specimens such as these to be a regular part of your day.”

      “Yeah, but to someone there, a stroll through a tidy cottage garden would be a treat.  I do admit they have us beat for animals and birds, though.  There’s nothing here to compare to any of that.”

      “I must agree, though I must say I am somewhat thankful there are not lions and elephants roaming the streets of London.”

      “They’d be in the countryside, terrorizing all the farmers, eating their crops and sheep.”

      “Well, then, I shall begin their import, though I do fear for the lamb supply for my dinner table.”

      “Get giraffes instead of lions, then.  Between them and the elephants, you’ll have a nice collection to impress your friends and all you need is a lot of plants to feed them.  Well, and a chap to handle what happens _after_ you feed them.  I’ll give you a hint… you’ll need a lot of chaps.”

      “It is always to the benefit of society to provide jobs for those who need them, so I am not unhappy with the outcome.”

The explorer laughed and Mycroft felt the tiniest tendrils of heat on his cheeks.

      “That’s one of the things I like about you, Mycroft.  You’ve got an excellent sense of humor.”

The sound of Sherlock gargling ground glass was easily ignored by the older men, who moved to the next display, though Mycroft was secretly happy for the distraction.  A sense of humor?  Him?  There was not a person alive who held that view of him, not that he had ever tried to be seen in that manner, of course.  Though, since he did not have to reveal this aloud, he could admit that it was not an altogether displeasing notion.

      “Thank you, Mr. Lestrade.  I do try.”

      “Greg.  Won’t you call me Greg?”

      “I am not fond of diminutives.”

      “Gregory, then?  Mr. Lestrade sounds so formal.”

It was not exactly proper, however, _his_ given name was bandied about as if they were old school chums…

      “Very well, Gregory.”

      “Great!  And for that… if you _do_ actually like flowers and plants, I might have some seeds I could be persuaded to part with.  They’ll need special care because they’re not used to English weather, but if you’ve a place for them and would like to try to grow something unique…”

A challenge… though, he really did have little time for…

      “Anything given into Mycroft’s care will either die of neglect or metamorphose into a pitiable creature, taking as its model Mycroft’s tedious, meddlesome and gluttonous persona.  The quick death it would suffer, due to the aforementioned neglect, would be considered a mercy.”

      “Mycroft, you want to excuse us for a moment?”

Before he could answer, Mycroft watched with extreme fascination as Sherlock’s arm was linked with Lestrade and his brother was escorted to a quieter portion of the room for what became a lengthy conversation which was characterized, staggeringly, by a mostly silent Sherlock and the particular snarl that said Sherlock was listening, considering the words being spoken and grudgingly giving them credence.  As the two walked back, Mycroft made very certain to give all signs that his attention was fully on a display of dried orchids and nodded politely to acknowledge their return.

      “So, Sherlock’s going to go over there and talk to the gentleman with more hair on his face than face and have a polite chat about visiting with me tomorrow and getting his poison samples since his research is serious science and, of course, the RGS will be mentioned prominently in any paper he publishes on his findings.  You and I will enjoy the rest of the exhibit while he gets that squared away, right Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s roll of his eyes was their answer, but he stalked off after his quarry, leaving Mycroft utterly speechless at the sight.

      “Gregory… whatever did you do?”

      “Reminded him that other people have ears and being nasty to you in public isn’t right.  He wouldn’t want anyone to do it to him, so he’s got no cause to do it to you.  Or anyone, for that fact.  Of course, I had to agree that he could be a misery at home, but out in public, he’s got to watch his tongue as best he can.  I’m sorry if I took liberties, but… I don’t like him speaking ill about you, Mycroft.  I don’t like it at all.”

There was a look on Lestrade’s face that raised a bounty of questions in Mycroft’s mind, but he set them aside because exploring them would take him into areas he truly had no desire to tread.  Perhaps later, when he had a good whisky to smooth the waters…

      “That is very kind of you, Gregory.  I admit that I am inured to Sherlock’s nonsense and scarcely notice the _vituperative_ nature of his tone, at times.”

      “I understand that.  You get used to something and it starts to seem normal.  But… I’ve asked about you, Mycroft, and you’re known in society.  And I’ve heard more than a few stories about a younger brother casting a bad shadow on the older one and the older one suffers for it.  I can see that Sherlock’s not a bad lad, but he doesn’t think before he says something and you shouldn’t have to suffer for that.”

Now that was interesting… he had long ago ceased to worry about being sullied by Sherlock’s reputation because his brother’s behavior was ridiculous, as opposed to disreputable, and, it must be said, because he cared little for _his_ reputation in society since he made no effort to be an active part of it in the first place.  But for Gregory to notice and, further, for it to be of concern… _two_ whiskies might be required to smooth the waters this evening or the rather substantial measure of work waiting on his desk might never see the level of attention it so desperately required.

      “I appreciate your concern, Gregory.  It does you credit to show such kindness.”

But do stop smiling so brightly, kind sir.  Though _your_ reputation is not precisely one of maturity and seriousness, smiling with such warmth at another man not your blood will surely not be to your benefit if it is noticed by others.

      “Thank you!  Now, let’s see what else we can find for you to look at.  You know… if you want to see more of what I brought back, all you have to is ask.”

      “I shall consider your offer most seriously.  And, I do believe I notice your handiwork in this next set of drawings.”

      “You do!  You have quite an eye, Mycroft.  Two of them, in fact.”

No, he would not remark on the chuckle that somehow found its way through his lips, though the path had long overgrown with weeds.  Accursed explorer.  Perhaps it was a good thing that this would be the last night of their acquaintance for the mental energy expended upon Mr. Lestrade… Gregory… could not be termed productive and it was a truism of his life that it was required it be productive…

__________

      “Are you sure you have to leave?”

      “Good heavens, Gregory!  Sherlock and I have monopolized your time to a truly unacceptable degree.”

      “Not true, but I’ve seen you check your pocket watch a few times and I suspect you’ve got something waiting for you at home.  Am I right?”

Observant… Gregory certainly had a richer repertoire of skills than his bluster and brag led one to believe…

      “I do have matters of work that require my attention, yes.”

      “And I have experiments to prepare for the samples I will retrieve tomorrow.”

      “Then I’ll say goodbye and thank you both again for coming.  I appreciate it, I really do.  Sherlock, I’ll see you tomorrow and Mycroft… I do hope to see you again, soon.”

Sherlock took the farewell as his cue to leave and Mycroft followed soon after, once he smiled and nodded to their unofficial host.

      “Well, brother dear, I congratulate you on your success.  You shall be awash in poisons by lunchtime tomorrow.”

      “The route I was forced to traverse to acquire them bordered on tortuous.”

      “As is sometimes the case for something one truly desires.  Do, however, take care with them, Sherlock, as I am quite certain accidental exposure will not be met with a swiftly applied antidote.”

      “That is actually one possible avenue of my research.”

      “Oh, well that would be most useful for future expeditions, I have no doubt.”

      “True, though, if they are sufficiently stupid to eat a plant not documented safe for human consumption, then their removal as breeding stock from the population is a benefit to us all.”

      “Very altruistic of you to consider the welfare of the coming generations.  I presume that, once we arrive home, I shall not see you until morning?”

      “If you are hoping I will not consume the remainder of the ham before you are able to take it for yourself, then be prepared for bounty of dashed hopes.”

It would be unfair to remind Sherlock of his discussion with Gregory because… he _had_ been hoping to enjoy the remainder of the ham and hypocrisy was not something he considered a sound character trait.

      “Nonsense.  I was simply going to remind you that I shall be unavailable for the remainder of the night and that anything you require had best be handled immediately upon our return.”

      “I shall be handling the _ham_ immediately upon our return and, also, bread with marmalade.”

      “Is there enough to share?”

      “Unfortunately, yes.”

      “Oh good.  Then we shall have an additional portion of fraternal camaraderie before I bid you goodnight.”

      “My life is now complete.”

      “How delightful for you.”

__________

Though he’d taken no sleep the night before, Sherlock felt no fatigue as he looked again at the paper on which was written the instructions to find the room where he was to meet Lestrade.  Stalking down the corridor and ignoring the inquisitive looks from those he passed, he quickly found his destination and burst through the door storming inside and… feeling the irritation rise up since Lestrade was nowhere to be found.

      “Oh, hello.  Can I help you?”

Sherlock turned at the sound of the voice to find a short, blondish man standing next to a large cabinet.

      “I am here to see Lestrade.”

      “You must be Sherlock.  Greg told me to tell you that he would be a little late.”

      “Typical.  The man obviously has no sense of priorities.”

      “I wouldn’t say that.  He’s actually making some preparations for another of his lectures.  Those lectures inspire public interest in what we do and that interest pays our expenses.  I would say he has a very strong sense of priority, actually.”

      “I see.  And who are you to make that assessment?”

      “I’m John.  John Watson.  I serve as the expedition doctor.  I’d say that makes me qualified to assess anything about what we do.”

      “Pffftt… if you are a qualified doctor, then you should already have begun studying the poison samples I am here to collect.”

      “Well, for your information, I _have_.”

      “Truly?”

      “I’m doing what I can, yes, but we don’t have the equipment here for a thorough chemical analysis.  I’m creative, though, so I can make do with what we have.”

      “What have you learned?  I demand access to all of your results.”

      “Oh, you’re a polite one, aren’t you?”

      “What does politeness have to do with science?”

      “You have a point.  Alright, you can look at my notes while I get your samples ready.”

John walked towards the small desk set aside for him and made sure Sherlock couldn’t see him grin.  Greg had described him perfectly.  And if Sherlock was as good with science as Greg seemed to think he was, then he could actually be useful.  The fact he had lovely eyes was a very pleasant bonus… 


	4. Chapter 4

      “This is deplorably sloppy.”

John rolled his eyes and took another sip of his tea.  Sherlock had derided each piece of analysis he’d performed, yet copied every single of his results, word for word, in his own research journal, asked questions about his methodology and carefully inspected his makeshift equipment, scribing notes on its construction.  Apparently, Sherlock’s default response to _anything_ was an insult and you had to decide for yourself if it was real or a cover for grudging satisfaction.

      “Just like the last bits, then.  Glad to know I’m consistent.”

      “Consistently inept.”

      “Sherlock… we need another conversations about politeness?”

John grinned at the newly-arrived Lestrade’s hands-on-hip, don’t-argue-with-your-father posture and Sherlock’s soft, feral hiss of response.

      “The focus of that conversation was my elephantine brother, who is not present.  Further, this venue cannot be described as public, so your nannying is wholly misplaced.”

      “Alright, I have to admit you have a point.  An evil and villainous point, but a point nonetheless.  Sorry, John.  You’ll have to fight this battle on your own.”

Something John had been doing a fantastic job of, in Lestrade’s opinion.  He’d been spying on the two younger men for quite some time and very much liked what he saw.  Sherlock _was_ a good lad, if you took the time to look past his slings and arrows and John, when his interest was piqued, had the patience for such a thing.  When he wasn’t interested, he could be a testy and miserable individual, which was why _they_ got along so well…

      “Can’t say I’m surprised.  The story of your life… leaving me to fend for myself because you’ve seen something lovely and got caught in their wake.”

      “Funny man.”

      “Tell me, how many something lovelies were at your talk last night?  You were certainly smiling when you came back to your rooms afterwards.”

Lestrade rocked back on his heels and let a grin spread wide across his lips.  Oh yes, he’d been smiling.  He’d had a wonderful time talking to a tremendously interesting man, who stimulated his mind just as much as other bits and how often did that happen?  And that man had a sense of humor that was sharp and out of the ordinary, which was just cream on the cake.

      “Oh, did you succeed in besmirching the virtue of one of the females who were hovering about you like flies around manure?”

      “No, Sherlock, I did not.  Anyone’s virtue that wants to make my acquaintance will be doing so freely and happily, so you can’t say it’s being besmirched because it’s getting what it wants and I make sure it gets a lot of what it wants and just the way it wants it.”

      “John!  Bring a pail!  I am going to be sick!”

      “Just swallow when it burbles up and you’ll be fine.  Besides, you didn’t have to listen to any detail, like I have to when Greg’s had a successful… besmirching.”

      “I shall immediately forward this information to Mycroft.  I suspect he was becoming convinced to reach into his coffers and contribute towards your holiday-making, however, he does not condone wantonness, so will reward me for saving his pudding fund.”

      “NO!”

Both John and Sherlock reared back at Lestrade’s near-shout, which caused the explorer to clear his throat in a pathetic attempt to pretend his was coughing.

      “Got a problem, Greg?”

      “No, John, just… there’s no need to go telling stories to Mycroft, Sherlock, since you don’t actually _have_ any stories to tell and they’re not true anyway.  Not entirely, at least.  A man’s allowed to have a little fun when he finds someone who wouldn’t mind having a bit of fun, too, but that doesn’t mean he’s…”

      “Libidinous?  Hedonistic?  Promiscuous?  Insatiable?”

      “NO!  Just means he’s a healthy bloke, so long as he’s decent and respectful to his partners.  So, don’t go spreading stories when you don’t actually know what you’re talking about.  Especially to your brother.”

      “Ah, I see… Mycroft was correct.”

      “What?  What was Mycroft correct about?  And don’t pretend you’ve forgotten or I’ll give you a thump you _won’t_ forget.”

      “Barbarism… I really can muster no surprise for the fact.  For your information, he posited that you were hoping to mine his pockets for lucre, hence your desperation to remain in his good graces.  However… I suppose that does not really explain why he permitted you such a degree of conversation, or his tetchiness when you were speaking with the peahens who were hoping to have you in marriage.  Or coitus.”

      “Oh.  I… he… Mycroft doesn’t _really_ think I’m after his money, does he?”

John stared at his friend and felt a light go on in his head, seeing the truly distressed expression on Lestrade’s face.  Oh ho… so Greg’s smile had been for a particular person and that person had this tall, curly-haired business as a brother.  This was the funniest thing in the world.

      “In truth, I do not know.  Mycroft is confoundedly inscrutable, at times.  I am certain he practiced his lack of facial cues in the mirror in his youth, but I have no first-hand witnessing to verify my hypothesis.”

That was something, but Lestrade wasn’t satisfied.  He had made a point of saying he was chatting with the toffs to get his hands on their money, so why wouldn’t Mycroft think it might be happening to him, too?  Alright, this couldn’t stand.  No, not at all.  But… Sherlock also said Mycroft had gotten out of sorts when he was speaking with the ladies… that was interesting.  Maybe things weren’t as bad as he thought.  Or they might.  Time to do a little exploring…

      “Ultimately, it matters not for, given the completion of the lectures for which I might have interest, you shall have no further occasion to be appalled by his presence.”

No, Sherlock, not if Gregory Lestrade had anything to say about it and if there something in this world he was good at, it was… saying things about things.

      “That’s not nice, lad, and, actually, I might be seeing him sooner than you think.”

      “Oh?  Are you planning on making camp at the butcher’s?  I regret to inform you that Mycroft does not leave the house even for bacon.”

      “I actually thought I’d pay him a visit, just so you know.  Got to bring him the seeds I promised and have a chat about how they might should be grown.”

      “Why did you not deliver to me the poison samples _I_ requested?  This is an inequity that I shall not let stand unaddressed!”

John couldn’t remember a time he’d had this much fun and settled in a chair to continue enjoying the performance.

      “I wasn’t about to walk the streets of London with poison in my pocket, now was I?  My luck a pickpocket would nick them and there’d be bodies across half the city by nightfall!”

      “Your inability to evade a thief is no reason that Mycroft can sit on his prominent posterior and be presented with his wares, but I must suffer and slave for the pittance I am being afforded.”

      “You’re doing well with this deal, so no complaints out of you.”

      “I shall complain if I so choose.  Loudly, as well.”

      “Lovely.  Look… how about this.  Give me your address so I can call on your brother and I’ll… we had some botanical specimens that didn’t survive the trip very well and you can have samples of those.  Maybe you can do your science on them and find something new that nobody’s every found before.”

      “Insufficient and labor intensive.”

      “It’s the best I can do.”

      “If I am to part with the location of my brother’s sty… you must part with your assistant.”

      “What are you on about?  I don’t have an assistant.”

      “John.  I will require an assistant for the volume of research I must conduct and you will deed him to me as part of our bargain.”

John nearly spilled his tea, which counted as a mortal sin, as he leapt up from his chair and wagged his finger at Sherlock.

      “Now, hold on a minute…”

       “Agreed.  I’ll… here, write your address on this.”

Greg shoved a scrap of paper at Sherlock and waved off John’s sputtering and arm waving.

      “What!  Greg, you utter bastard.  What are you…”

      “Sorry, John, but sacrifices must be made for… seeds.  Besides, you’ve been moaning about how much you have to do and how little you have to work with.  Now, you’ve got someone to help you.”

      “Direct!”

      “Yes, Sherlock… _direct_ you and I bet your director has lots of equipment for this sort of thing.   Right, lad?”

      “I have a fully-equipped laboratory in our home and access to additional space at the local hospital.”

      “See?  Sherlock, you finished writing yet?  Good.  Give it here.”

Lestrade plucked the paper out of Sherlock’s fingers and did a small mental dance.

      “Alright, I’m going to collect a few things and then I’ll be off.  Now, remember… the RGS is a serious organization and they don’t tolerate tomfoolery within their walls.  Anything daft you do, you’d better make sure to keep anyone from finding out.”

With those words of wisdom, Lestrade was darting out of the door, just a hair quicker than John could hurl an empty inkwell at his head.

      “Very well… now that the distraction has departed, we may begin.  Obtain for me a laboratory apron.”

      “Look, Sherlock… you are not my bloody owner, so don’t think you can order me about like a slave.”

      “Your argument is flawed because I believe I was just handed your ownership papers.”

John grinned predatorily and, in under five seconds, had Sherlock on the floor and in a position in which the taller man found he couldn’t move without something hurting.  A lot.

      “Did my time as an Army surgeon, Sherlock, so I know a thing or two about looking out for myself.  I actually do think it’s a good idea us working together to analyze what we can of what we brought back, but don’t take Greg’s ridiculous joke to heart.  Now, if I let you off the floor, are you going to remember that we work _together_ and that I don’t work for you?”

      “My memory is flawless.”

      “Is that a yes?”

      “… maybe.”

      “Good enough.  If you forget, I can just give you a reminder.  A harsh and painful reminder.”

John let Sherlock off of the floor and politely failed to remark as Sherlock straightened his clothing and checked for sprains.

      “Alright, then… I’ll get you a laboratory apron, because you don’t know where they are and we can do a little initial work here.  Do you… you really have a full lab in your house?”

      “I insisted upon it in trade when Mycroft refused to fund my own residence.  And servants.  And provide monies for my incidental expenses.”

      “You poor dear.  What a hardship that must have been for you.”

      “I endure.”

__________

Lestrade checked the address again just to be certain and smiled at the large structure he was facing.  Exactly what he would expect from Mycroft – elegant, yet intimidating.  The person who lived here was perfectly proper and sophisticated, but not someone to take lightly.  And the knocker practically rang like a bell against the heavy wood of the door.  The interior was going to be just as incredible.  It had to be… Mycroft was in there…

__________

      “Mr. Holmes?  There’s a gentleman here to see you.”

Mycroft looked up from his desk and took in Mrs. Hudson’s slightly-uncertain expression as he mentally paged through his agenda for the day.

      “I do not believe I have any appointments scheduled at this time.”

      “Yes, the gentleman did say he doesn’t have an appointment.  I tried to tell him you don’t receive unexpected visitors, but…”

      “Yes?”

      “He said you’d _expect_ him to be unexpected and… I’m  quoting, you understand… you wouldn’t want him to spread his seed around on your doorstep.”

While Mrs. Hudson giggled like a schoolgirl, Mycroft had a significant cardiac event and hoped with everything in him that his prediction was wildly off the mark.

      “This gentleman… he would not be possessed of…”

A lustrous smile?  Hair of the most vibrant brilliance?  The most warming of brown eyes?  Well… that was entirely too besotted for a man of his age to verbalize.

      “… a noted tanning of his skin?”

      “Oh, yes!  Looks like he’s just come back from somewhere very sunny, as a matter of fact.”

The cardiac event took a moment to wring its hands and dither about in his chest, which was fortunate, because it gave his mind time to peek out from the tree behind which it was currently hiding and offer up its opinion on the subject.

      “Do… do tell him I regret that I am far too busy to receive visitors today.”

      “That’s a pitiful lie, Mr. Holmes.  Doesn’t sound as if you even tried.”

      “It is the absolute truth.  Behold!  I am nearly trapped under an avalanche of papers.”

      “Your desk always looks like that, you horrid thing.  Now, I know your usual visitors and the ones you try to avoid and this gentleman isn’t one of them, so, I have to suspect he’s someone new and he’s got your fluids in an uproar.  That means I already like him, so I’m very inclined to let him in unless you have a lie less pitiful to tell me.”

      “Cough, cough… I am taken with plague.”

      “Straighten your jacket.  And smile, for heaven’s sake.”

Mrs. Hudson whirled and stormed out of the study, leaving Mycroft to scramble to get his jacket straightened and make some attempt to bring his desk into order before Lestrade was being escorted into the room by a beaming housekeeper.

      “Mr. Gregory Lestrade to see you, Mr. Holmes.”

Making a ‘Behave yourself!’ gesture behind Lestrade’s back, Mrs. Hudson left the men alone, or as alone as an open keyhole would ever make possible.  This was very interesting happenings and she was woefully behind on stories to share with Mrs. Turner next door.  Sherlock hadn’t made anything explode in ages and it had certainly been a bit dull in the house of late…

      “Mycroft!  Fancy meeting you here.”

      “Mr. Lestrade…”

      “Greg.  I mean, Gregory.”

      “Immaterial.  For what reason could you possibly be visiting me.  In my home.  Uninvited.”

      “I brought gifts!”

Lestrade held up the sack he was porting and shook it gently, smiling brightly at Mycroft’s thunderous glower.  The man was adorable when he was being ferocious.

      “Mr. Les… Gregory.  I have a considerable volume of work to tend to and…”

      “And I’d wager you’ve been working at it without a rest since you finished your breakfast.  That can’t be good for you, so here I am to… save your eyesight or something.  Told you I’d give you some seeds, didn’t I?  A Lestrade doesn’t go back on his word, so here.  Don’t tell anyone, but there might be a few bulbs in there, too.”

Mycroft sighed loudly and wondered how one man could be so positively infuriating and not be, in any manner, related to him.

      “I shall offer my gratitude for your kindness and consideration, however…”

      “So, where are these going to go?  You have one of those conservatories to grow plants in?  A lovely house like this must have a garden room of some kind, so where is it?”

Did no one acknowledge that he was actually working today?  That he had in his possession documents on which political decisions of vast import were to be made?

      “It won’t do any good lying either, because I already asked Mrs. Hudson and she said you did have one, but you treated it shamefully and ought to be horsewhipped for letting it fall into disgrace.”

No, no one apparently did.  At last glance, his name _was_ actually on the ownership papers for this residence, but he seemed to have the household standing of a scullery maid.

      “Gregory, have you any idea of the impropriety and impertinence of… invading a man’s home and making demands of him?”

      “Well, if the man was some bloke I didn’t know, then yes, but that’s not the case here, is it?  Certainly not one stranger paying their respects or disrespects to another.  And you’re more than welcome to stop in for a visit at my rooms anytime you’d like in return.  The RGS has a bit of housing for visitors and it’s actually nice because you can walk about at night and get a look at things the public doesn’t have the opportunity to see.”

Mycroft was certain there was something going on, but not even his incomparable intelligence could quite find the right box into which it fit, which was discomfiting in the extreme.

      “I… no, I do not see, however, I have strong suspicions that affecting your eviction so I might return to my work would require I battle my way past my housekeeper and I would rather not have her engage in a campaign of revenge by leaving my tea cups ungathered at night’s end and my books undusted for the remainder of recorded time.  Please, do follow me.”

Mycroft ignored the snickering explorer and walked with as much gravitas as he possessed to the rear of the house and opened wide the doors to the conservatory the previous owner had added to the structure.

      “This is beautiful!  Disgraceful, but beautiful!”

Lestrade walked into the large room and marveled at the gentle lines and elegant curves of the architecture, as well as the rich hues of the marble that made the floor and the columns that supported the ceiling.

      “I have little time to devote to its upkeep.”

      “Well, then you _find_ someone to devote their time to it, because this is a treasure.  I can help you get it sorted, though.  Just needs some good hard work to see it set up properly and hard work is a specialty of mine.”

Mycroft shook his head and wondered how in the world the explorer had not yet been shown the territorial limits of London and told to remain firmly on the non-London side of the line.

      “Thank you, Gregory, however, I do not use the space and…”

      “Why not?  This has to be fantastic on a lovely, sunny day.  Have a relaxing time with a good book, the smell of flowers and good, rich earth in the air… don’t worry about a thing.  Once back to its beautiful self, you’ll see what I mean.  And, good… you’ve got some pots ready for what I’ve brought for you.  I’ll talk to the people in the Horticultural Society about where to find the right sorts of plants for a room like this and…”

      “Gregory!  Good heavens… I do appreciate your offer, however, I am not unaware of the calls upon your time and would never, not for a moment, dream to impose.  I shall speak with Mrs. Hudson about having the room cleaned and employing someone to see your very generous gift planted and tended to in the correct manner.”

      “Well, alright.  If you’re satisfied with the economic inefficiency of your plan, then, by all means, go ahead.”

Mycroft’s mouth dropped open, closed shut again and his eyes narrowed into their most serpentine glare.

      “Pardon me?”

      “From my perspective, you have access to free, temporary labor that will not further encumber your existing staff with additional duties, which might reduce their effectiveness at performing their current jobs.  Further, you are willing to expend funds for an additional servant, be it on a permanent or temporary basis, when you could avoid the expenditure altogether, while still gaining the benefits.  Like I said… inefficient.”

How could one man be so unabashedly insufferable!  The fact his analysis was correct was completely beside the point.  Nor was his lack of intelligent rebuttal.  Therefore…

      “Piffle.”

Lestrade burst out laughing and Mycroft found himself chuckling, too.

      “You’ve got me!  Slaughtered my argument and left no survivors.  You are a master debater, Mr. Holmes.”

      “I do pride myself on my verbal acumen.”

      “As well you should.  How about this, then?  I’ll give you as much information as I can about these lovelies and help you with what you might need to get them planted.  Maybe… Sherlock did say you had some interest in plants when you were a lad.  Think you could find an afternoon to see them given their new home?  I promise you won’t have to see a speck of dirt under your fingernails if it doesn’t suit your fancy.  Then you can have the room tidied, brought back to use, and hire a boy to work with the plants to keep them thriving.  Does that sound like a compromise?”

It was entirely unfair that Gregory should have such a facile mind, in addition to his other attributes, because no man should have such a potent arsenal of weapons at his disposal.  But… what would be the harm?  In truth, the room _was_ rather disappointing and that was due to his neglect and reluctance to set foot out of his study for most hours of the day, directing the servants to concentrate their time on the parts of the house that saw use and leaving others to… sit.  But, the doctor did say he needed to reduce stress, did he not?  Spending an hour, as Gregory suggested, with a good book among a small patch of green, would be an excellent way to accomplish that goal, regardless of the path taken to make the means manifest.

      “I believe that is not wholly out of the question.  If you desire, I shall order for us a refreshment and we might discuss the matter further.”

      “I’d like that.  Sherlock won’t be home for awhile, so we’ll be able to talk without having to push him in his perambulator and apologize to the nice people who he hits with his lolly.”

This time Mycroft’s laughter was open and free, which surprised the older Holmes brother mightily, since he could scarcely remember the last time that had happened.

      “I take it my brother found something at the RGS to occupy his time”

      “I would say so, yes, and I’ll be happy to tell you all about it.”

      “Then do commence.  For a bit of storytelling about Sherlock, I am always an eager listener.  Just one moment, while I call for our refreshment.”

As Mycroft moved towards the bell pull, Lestrade took another look around the room and imagined what it would be like filled with plants and just enough furnishings to make it a useful, as well as beautiful space.  A bit of nature’s beauty inside this gorgeous home where Mycroft could enjoy it anytime he’d like.  That was important, he really believed that.  London was a fine city, but a body needed something of the Earth, something natural and _real_ , to experience, too.

And, to be honest, he’d thought up this plan only after talking to the housekeeper, so it was something of a miracle that Mycroft had agreed to any part of it.  Apparently, _he_ was the master debater, not that there had been any real doubt in his own mind, but it was always good to have independent confirmation.  And if he could convince Mycroft into this decision, imagine what other things he could convince the mighty Mr. Holmes to do.  Not today, of course, because he didn’t want to scare away his quarry, but, if he could plan expeditions to lands an eternity from here, he could certainly be successful with one for a far more local target.  And a far more desirable one, too…

__________

When Mycroft finally had to declare his time no longer free for conversation, it was with some regret that he showed his guest to the door and watched Lestrade stop at the bottom of the stairs, turn and give him another of his infernal winks, before starting the trek back to the RGS.

What an… _unusual_ day.  They had talked, not of stuffy and dry topics, but of matters of interest and import and those that he actually found enjoyable.  Thankfully, Sherlock was not here to witness his level of animation, for it was profoundly unseemly and his brother would tease him mercilessly for it.  But, for once in an achingly long time, he had spent companionable time with another person and not wished every moment to be somewhere else.  Unusual… very, very unusual…

      “That Mr. Lestrade is certainly a lively fellow, isn’t he?”

      “Ah, Mrs. Hudson.  Yes, liveliness does seem to be his stock in trade.”

      “Well, it’s nice that he decided to pay you a visit.  It’s good to get a little fresh air blowing through here and up your skirts.”

      “Yes, I’m certain it is.  Fortunately, I believe the typhoon shall not batter our shutters more than a time or two, so fear not that the kitchen fires will be endangered by the gusts.”

      “Where is he living?  I’ll send an invitation over for him to join us for dinner one evening.  I suspect he’s a man who appreciates a good meal and a touch of brandy afterwards.  Like someone else I know.  Who’s sitting in the chair you happen to be sitting in right now and wearing your clothes.”

      “What a lucky gentleman he must be.  And there will be no issuing invitations to Gregory to dine with us.  I have no desire to impose on the man’s time and have little to spare of my own for collegiality.  Now, if you will excuse me…”

      “And did I hear correctly that you’re going to see the conservatory brought back to life?”

      “Was the keyhole not sufficiently clear that you are unsure of your snooping?”

      “I prefer to have my facts straight before I go off and gossip about them.”

      “A sound strategy.  And, yes.  I believe it would be a wise decision to see it rehabilitated so that I might partake in its soothing environment when I am able.”

      “That should please that doctor of yours.”

      “Sherlock or keyhole?”

      “Sherlock.  I’m supposed to try and encourage you to exercise and hide the sweets so you don’t die before the new year.”

      “I see.  And where will you be hiding the sweets?”

      “In the old humidor you don’t use.”

      “Clever.  I shall, of course, make no attempt to find them, though do see that the confectioner includes an additional measure of those lovely nut and chocolate morsels with his next delivery.  They are most delightful.”

      “Of course, sir.  Dinner at the normal hour?”

      “Please.  Sherlock may or may not join us, for he has found an endeavour that is to his liking.”

      “Oh, something fun?”

      “Poison.”

      “He’ll adore that.  I’ll see Cook keeps something warm for him, if necessary.  Anything I can get for you now, Mr. Holmes?”

      “Just solitude so I may actually see something productive come of this day.”

      “I think it already has.  And he has a very commanding walk in those boots of his.”

      “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.”

      “When he comes to dinner I’ll talk to Cook about those lovely chops she makes.  Nice and hearty for an active man like that.”

      “ _Thank you_ , Mrs. Hudson.  Please surrender to me your supply of notepaper at your earliest convenience.”

      “Just as soon as I get the invitation written, you can have it all.  I’m going to get new anyway.  Mrs. Turner’s got the nicest paper and envelopes and it won’t do for us to have lesser than her.”

Mycroft sighed loudly and held his head in his hands as Mrs. Hudson left the room to tend to her duties, making a note to check her employer’s schedule for a good night to have a small dinner party.  It was time Mr. Holmes had someone to talk to and Mr. Lestrade already had her approval.  He’d had her employer laughing, which was… well, she’d worried Reckoning would arrive before she heard that!  And she wasn’t so old she could recognize those special little signs that said this had the potential of going somewhere she _certainly_ approved of.  Time the dear thing had a little romance in his life.   Strong, handsome, romance, at that.  .  Man or woman, it didn’t really matter, just so it made a body happy and it was time Mr. Holmes’s body had a bit of happiness to enjoy.  Oh… this was going to be fun…


	5. Chapter 5

      “How did you find sweets?”

Mycroft looked at the buttery morsel in his fingers and made a tremendous show of being deep in thought.

      “The sweets fairy.”

      “I specifically told Mrs. Hudson to hide them!”

      “Apparently the sweets fairies are exceptionally good at finding things.”

Sherlock glared and glared harder when Mycroft popped the rest of his toffee into his mouth and smiled smugly.

      “Already my day has been upturned by the presence of John and now I am forced to suffer your ridiculous posturing.”

That Sherlock mentioned the doctor, and by name, was highly interesting.  Individuals given such distinction were very few and far between.

      “Oh, and what did Doctor Watson do to send your day whipping into a maelstrom?”

      “How did you know John was a doctor?”

      “Good heavens, Sherlock, your mind is truly unmoored if you cannot piece together such a simplistic puzzle.”

Sherlock was positively adorable when he was frustrated, even if it lasted but a trice…

      “Lestrade!  He had no business sharing my… business with you.”

      “A minor matter of conversation during his visit, nothing more.”

      “Visit?  He was supposed to deliver seeds not join you for tea.”

      “Then it is good we did not have tea, else some rule-breaking might have occurred.”

      “You do not… visit.”

      “Oh?  Then I wonder who it was received Gregory after he arrived at our door?  Could we be beset by phantoms?”

      “You may have sweets or humor, but not both.”

      “Very well, I shall continue to enjoy my lovely toffee and settle into my most dour personality.  Now, Sherlock, do tell me about your day, but kindly refrain from using animated tones, lest my façade fail me.”

      “I am not amused, Mycroft.”

      “Already I am a success!  Verily this is a joyful day for me.”

Sherlock snarled and confiscated a toffee from Mycroft’s dish, waving his victory like a flag in front of his brother’s face.

      “For your information, my own day was successful, and, most certainly, of a greater degree than yours.”

      “Do continue, brother dear.”

      “John and I made noted progress on analyzing the components of one of the poisons and formulated a research plan for the remainder of our work.  I shall have to shoulder the brunt of the load, as expected, but John has demonstrated some facility with chemistry, so may be a useful assistant.”

For Sherlock, that was an astounding compliment and Mycroft’s interest was piqued even further.

      “Shall I expect to meet this John?  Perhaps when he arrives to make use of your personal laboratory facilities.”

      “You will not speak to John.”

      “So that is a confirmation.  And I am afraid I must verbalize _some_ number of words to the man, lest I appear dim-witted when he offers greetings to me as we pass in the hallway.”

      “You leave your study with a frequency which approaches that of a solar eclipse, so accidental meeting is highly unlikely.”

      “But I am to take more exercise, am I not, so a bracing stroll through the house now and again must be considered therapeutic.”

      “Why are you attempting to meet John?”

      “For the reason I would strive to meet any of your acquaintances.  Simple curiosity and courtesy.  You so rarely engage in anything but the briefest and most necessary contact with others that I would know more about the person who has won the right to actually set foot in your laboratory.  And, despite all evidence to the contrary, I _am_ the master of the house and it would be unforgivably poor manners to fail to offer him greeting if, perhaps, he joins us for luncheon one day.”

      “John is my assistant.  We work.  We do not luncheon.”

      “Oh, so you failed to eat today for the many hours you were not at home.”

      “……………..”

      “Well, I hope you, at least, paid your share of the cost and did not impose upon your colleague’s largesse.”

      “John has a salary.  I do not.”

      “Dear heavens… Sherlock, notify me when next you are to visit John at his work and I will provide you with monies specific for sustenance, for I know reminding you of your allowance funds would fall upon supremely deaf ears.” 

      “My work with John is not your concern and any money you provide me should be considered my due for suffering your presence in my life.  I am tired of discussing this, in any case.  Instead, let us talk of your putative visit with Lestrade.  What was discussed?  I would know the depths of your dreariness in full detail.”

How curious was Sherlock’s curiosity.  His brother was being most inquisitive tonight…

      “We discussed the status of root vegetables crops and silver polish.”

      “Your lie sullies my ears.”

      “Would you like some silver polish to restore their luster?”

      “The only reason I am not more fully expressing my disapproval is that Lestrade is a conduit to what I desire, but once his usefulness is no more, this nonsense will cease.”

      “For your information, brother, I do not necessarily intend to visit again with Mr. Lestrade.  He made offer to help with the restoration of the conservatory, however, I have no real idea if he intends or has the time to carry through with his plans.”

Mycroft puzzled at the quick flash of upset on his brother’s face and decided it prudent to pry a bit.

      “Sherlock, are you hoping to see the conservatory restored?  I had no idea you had interest in the space.”

      “I care noting for your plant bower.”

      “Are you then, despite your previous declarations, displeased that Mr. Lestrade might not visit again?”

      “Preposterous.”

That his brother did not quite meet his eye spoke volumes about the veracity of the word.

      “Truly?  I mean… I would understand it, of course.  Mr. Lestrade holds fascination, I suppose, given the potential for, shall we say, social research.”

      “Pfft.”

That, at least, was honestly expressed.  So… sometimes the direct approach was the most efficient.

      “Would you share with me, Sherlock, your reason for your thoughts?  I would very much appreciate hearing it.”

      “…………….”

      “I can easily continue with my work while you dither, brother, so do take your time.”

      “Oh, very well.  Lestrade has experiences that I will likely never acquire and those could be of use at some point.  If he is not present to share them, then the opportunity is lost.”

      “I see.  As with you various conversations with tradesmen to learn the details of their craft, you hope to gather the knowledge Mr. Lestrade has gained through this travels.”

      “It is not unreasonable.”

      “Not at all.  Especially when those experiences are of such a profoundly… exotic… type.  There are few with whom you have conversed who have lived a life of such adventure and, shall we say, freedom of exploration.”

Something his brother craved, though he believed he guarded the secret most carefully.  Sherlock suffered greatly in situations where his mind was not provided with challenges and where there was little sense of accomplishment.  His station prohibited a legion of potential experiences and his brother chafed under that restriction, though he did his best to pay it no heed.  Lestrade and, likely, this John Watson, provided the vicarious thrill Sherlock desperately desired and it was truly easy, in hindsight, to see why he might worry about the loss of additional encounters with either man.

      “I care for their potential scientific value, nothing more.”

      “Of course.    In any case, I suspect that whether Mr. Lestrade again graces our halls, you will have access to him for as long as he remains in London.”

Sherlock didn’t answer, but Mycroft had long practice reading his brother’s expressions, this one of relief and determination.

      “Something he should be honored to facilitate.”

      “Yes, I am certain that is his particular train of thought on the matter, as well.  Now, tell me more of your day and your… assistant.  I am certain you have interesting stories to tell even after this first meeting.”

Which was all the prompting Sherlock needed to begin orating on the drudgery of working in a substandard laboratory with a barely-adequate assistant, but Mycroft paid only the scarcest of attention to any of it.  Sherlock was happy and that was the only matter of consequence.  And there was something about this new individual, John, that had garnered his brother’s interest and that was most intriguing.  Yes, he would take steps, if they became necessary, to see Sherlock have all possible opportunity to mine this new field of information.  At the very least, it would keep Sherlock occupied and that left less time to focus upon _him_ …

__________

      “He’s bloody irritating!”

Lestrade set down his book and grinned at John, who had stormed into his rooms and nearly started chewing on the furniture.

      “Who?  The dustman?”

      “Funny.  You know exactly who I mean because you sold me to him for… magic beans!”

      “Better warn London, then, about beanstalks sprouting up.  I’ll see if the newspapers are interested in paying for the story to buy us another month or so in Africa.”

      “What were you _thinking_?”

      “That you’ve been complaining about having to do difficult work with naught but a tin cup, string and a birch stick and now you’ve the ability to do the sort of thing you really want to do.”

      “I didn’t ask to be sold into slavery to His Majesty!”

      “Oh, you like His Majesty and you know it.  Sherlock’s got a gutful of bluster, that’s true, but if you hack past that he’s got a strong and creative mind.”

      “And an ego the size of India!”

      “Nobody’s perfect.”

John tossed himself into the chair opposite his companion and seethed, more because Greg was right than anything else.  It had been _infuriating_ day, but he had seen more accomplished than nearly the past week or so of his own, lonely efforts.  And… when he wasn’t being entirely horrid, Sherlock was actually an interesting person to talk to.  However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t enact his own revenge on the arrogant sod currently grinning at him like a drunkard.

      “But, I guess my day was better spent than yours, what with chasing after Sherlock’s brother and, obviously, meeting with failure.  Sitting here, all alone, with one of those dreadful stories you like to read.  Sad, truly sad, but I suppose you have to suffer the pang of defeat like the rest of us now and then.”

      “Now, just one minute… who says I had my eye on Sherlock’s brother?  And this is a tale of rollicking adventure and intrigue, I’ll have you know.  Not a bit of dreariness about it.”

      “Who says you’ve got your eye on Sherlock’s bother?  You do.  That entire frantic business to go and see him today screams about as loudly as anything has a right to.”

      “Delusional.  It’s sad you’re usefulness for me has come to an end, John, what with your new mental impairment.”

      “Is he like Sherlock or an actual human being?”

      “Mr. Mycroft Holmes is an upstanding member of society, so keep a civil tongue, you ne’er do well.”

      “Then he won’t want _you_ , bedraggled old dog that you are.”

      “Once my coat’s combed, I look very proper, thank you very much.”

      “Properly hound-like.  So tell me, did he appreciate your seeds or have his housekeeper chase you out with a broom?”

      “Actually, the housekeeper very much approves of my polite and manly self.  And, yes, he was nicely appreciative of my tiny gifts.  Has one of those big conservatories that’ll be perfect for getting the seeds going.  I’m going to get some suggestions from the horticultural society people about how to help them manage this abysmal English weather and see what can be done to give those little lovelies their best start in life.”

      “Which means you’ll have to see Mr. Holmes again, which was your evil scheme all along.”

      “Rubbish.”

      “Try again.”

Greg grinned at being completely caught out and, actually, being glad he had someone to talk to about it.

      “That might be my evil scheme, yes.”

      “Thought so.  You were practically glowing when you came back from your last lecture and I knew there had to be a reason why.  Handsome reason?”

      “Gorgeous reason, actually.”

      “And… does there actually exist a chance he might respond to your… _friendship_?”

      “Let’s say his preference for _friends_ is favorable for me at least to try.”

      “Well, that’s one obstacle avoided.  Somehow, though, I don’t suspect he’s going to be an easy fish for you to catch.”

      “And, you’d be right.  But the best fish are always the ones you have to work for.”

      “Worth it?”

      “I think so.  And I don’t think it’s an impossible battle, either.  He… I won’t say he’s given me any specific sign he might be interested in being a _friend_ , but you know when there’s a feeling that someone is thinking about it, even if they don’t believe they’ll ever act on what they’re thinking?”

      “Yes, I do.  But you’ve got to be careful, Greg.  Men in his position…”

      “I know.  Believe me, I do know and I’m not going to do anything that compromises him or me.  Can’t have any hint of scandal and I would take an asp to the throat before I’d let that happen.  Even if we never go further than a few pleasant conversations, I don’t want anyone spreading stories that could hurt either of us.”

      “Well, at least, you’re being practical about it.”

      “You will, too, what with courting Mycroft’s brother.”

      “WHAT!  Now I know you caught something awful during our last trip.  Already eaten into your brain.  When you die, I’ll take a sample and who knows, maybe I’ll discover a new type of parasite.  I’ll name it _Watsonious_ _ gregisabastardii_.  Got a nice right to it, doesn’t it?”

      “I’d smile down proudly from the heavenly clouds.  Doesn’t change that your attention today was only partially on those poisons.  The other part was on your science helper.”

      “And I’ll keep your preserved brain right next to my bedside to remember you by.  Except for the part I sectioned, of course.”

      “Oh, be honest, John!  You’ll feel better if you admit to having your sights on a _friend_.”

      “I have my sights on a bevy of pretty lasses, thank you very much, so my dance card is merrily full.”

      ‘I thought those were only for women.”

      “This is why I never get invited to balls and the like.  Can’t even master the basic rules, let alone do myself proud with the actual dancing.”

      “Your bevy of pretty lasses shouldn’t look to you for a fine evening, apparently.  Aren’t you lucky, then, that Sherlock really doesn’t seem the dancing type.”

      “You’ve got real mental troubles, Greg.  It’s the madhouse for you, I’m afraid.  I’ll see about it in the morning.”

      “Can’t in the morning.  I’ve got to meet with the cartographers and then call on a few people who sent me invitations to come to talk about our next expedition.  How about sometime after three?”

      “I’ll probably be working, so just let me know when to call for a carriage.”

      “This is the most efficient we’ve ever planned anything.”

      “I know.  It’s actually unnerving.  So, let’s talk about something less… nervy.  When are you going to see Mycroft again?”

      “I’m not entirely certain.  I think Mycroft takes propriety rather seriously and arriving on his doorstep unannounced wasn’t exactly something he appreciated first off.  Of course, he was quickly overwhelmed by my masculine charm, but I might want to do this a bit more formally next time.  Send one of those notes to beg an audience.  I think he’d like that, me begging for his very luscious self.”

      “And this conversation is officially over.”

      “You’ll be coming back for the rest of it when you want some hints on getting your own Holmes begging for you.”

      “After three, you said, for having you taken away to somewhere you can’t be a danger to yourself of society?”

      “I think that should work.  I’ll try and send word if I’m going to be late.”

      “You’re a considerate man, Greg.”

      “It’s one of my many, many attractive features.”

__________

      “The morning post is here, Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft looked up from his desk and recognized the smile on his housekeeper’s face quite easily.

      “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.  Since you have it opened already, do inform me of what you feel requires my immediate attention.”

      “You’ve got the usual dull bits from your solicitors, those envelopes you tell people to put in an envelope _in_ their envelopes because you think I’m feeble or something and can’t muster the strength to open two envelopes without a rest in between…”

Or because it had become the accepted code between himself, his housekeeper and the echelons of government for matters that truly were for his eyes and no other.  And Mrs. Hudson did have the foresight to hide such from Sherlock’s eyes should he be near, for he had no regard for the rituals that kept their empire functioning.

      “… some other dibs and dabs… … …”

My, that was a meaningful pause…

      “Yes?”

      “And _this_.”

Mrs. Hudson handed Mycroft the sturdy white envelope, graciously pre-opened to ease the removal of the note it contained.

_Dear Mr. Holmes,_

_Thank you most sincerely for receiving me yesterday in your home.  It was most kind of you to welcome me and I appreciate the time you were so generous to bestow for my visit.  I do hope I might again enjoy your company, of course, at a date and time of your choosing._

_Yours respectfully,_

_Greg Lestrade_

      “He’s got a good way with writing, doesn’t he?  Wouldn’t expect that from someone who spends his time with monkeys and crocodiles.  He’s got lovely handwriting, too.  I must admit I do appreciate a complex man.  And you, Mr. Holmes?”

Mycroft cleared this throat and set the note down on the desk next to him.  Infernal explorer!  It was entirely unfair to demonstrate awareness of the social niceties and enact them exquisitely.  The crocodiles surely did not care for such things!  Well, refusing Gregory’s company on the basis of vulgar barbarity was completely out of the question now.  Not that he was considering such, however, it would have been an acceptable excuse with which to justify it to himself should the need ever arise.  There was truly nothing to Gregory Lestrade but crass villainy.  Not even rationalization was safe from his tarnishing grasp!

      “Well?”

      “Pardon?”

      “When are you going to tell him to visit again?”

      “I have not decided if I will accept his request at all, for your information.”

      “Of course you are!  You’re not a stupid man.”

      “Well, thank you for that endorsement, however, I fail to see the connection between intelligence and my accepting Gregory’s request to call upon my house.”

      “He doesn’t want to call upon your house, he wants to call upon _you_.  It’s not a crime to have people in for a visit, you know.  Or maybe you don’t know that, what with never saying yes to anyone before.”

      “That is absolutely untrue, for just last week, I entertained…”

      “List for me one person in that party that didn’t have something to do with all that work of yours and I’ll personally pay for a bottle of that port you like when the weather’s especially vexing.”

      “One… one might engage socially with individuals with whom one also conducts business.”

      “List for me one thing that was discussed that wasn’t some silly government business and you can still win your port.”

      “Government business is certainly not silly.”

      “Is that the answer you’re going to let stand or are you actually going to give it a real go this time?”

      “Mrs. Hudson… I have no understanding of your insistence on this matter, but I am growing most weary of it.”

The housekeeper didn’t miss the soft frustration in Mycroft’s voice and her heart melted slightly at her poor dear’s plight.

      “And that’s my fault for not encouraging you more often before this.  You’re a good man, Mycroft Holmes.  A good man with a lot to offer a friend in his life and I genuinely believe that you’d enjoy keeping company with someone who gave you the chance to talk about things other than your envelope-in-an-envelope business and got you out of your study a night or two to do that relaxing you’re supposed to be working on.  It might not be my place to give you a nudge, and it’s fair of you to say so, but nobody else is going to do it and without a little nudge, I’m afraid you won’t even try.  You’ll lose a true and honest chance and that would just break my heart.”

Mrs. Hudson gave Mycroft a slightly misty-eyed so-there nod, turned on her heel and marched out of his study to have a moment for herself and give her Mycroft a chance to think about what she said.  Something the older Holmes brother grudgingly began to do.  People… people were simply ghastly at the _best_ of times.  Trying and pretentious and vapid… but, to be truthful, Gregory was none of those things.  He was insufferable and presumptuous and liberally supplied with cheek, but he was not possessed of the traits that characterized the normal strata of individuals that he has the misfortune to encounter.

And he had enjoyed their last visit, had he not?  Highly unexpectedly, but enjoy it he did and it would not be the end of this world if he tried a small experiment whereby he entertained Gregory again to see if the first meeting was an anomaly or actually indicative of a pattern.  After all, the man _had_ adhered well to the standard social strictures and that, at the very least, deserved some positive reinforcement.  It was how one trained dogs, was it not?  Provide a treat for a job well done, so the job will be well done again in the future.  If he chose to allow there to be a future occasion, that is…

Huffing a sigh, Mycroft drew over a piece of paper, picked up his pen, dabbed it in the inkwell and began to write.

_Dear Mr. Lestrade,_

_Your kind words are greatly appreciated and I would respond that I also found our time together most satisfactory.  If possible, I would like to request the pleasure of your company in my home in two day’s time at one o’clock for the purposes of conversation about items of common interest.  I do hope you are able to accept and look forward to receiving you at the appointed hour._

_With regards,_

_Mycroft Holmes_

Blotting the ink dry, Mycroft re-read his invitation to ensure it was sufficiently perfunctory and, in no manner, eager or anticipative before preparing the envelope and seeing everything prepared for Mrs. Hudson to send in the next post.  A small window of social interaction in his week would certainly not be lethal and, just perhaps, another engaging conversation might be won because of it.  And, it must be said, he absolutely savored victories no matter from what arena they sprung or how small they might be…


	6. Chapter 6

No, he was not primping.  What a ridiculous idea.  It was absolutely required that one give one’s best appearance when receiving a guest.  It was the height of poor manners in such a situation to be seen with a spot on one’s clothes, one’s watch chain unpolished or one’s hair in disarray and never let it be said that Mycroft Holmes ever evinced the slightest hint of poor manners.  Except when it was useful.

And it mattered not that his guest was the most insufferable and imprudent man in England.  It was simply a point of civility that one be a gracious, attentive and well-appointed host.  That and that alone was the reason he had chosen this particular set of garments.  And grandfather’s emerald tie pin.  For all her bothersome meddling, in one thing, Mrs. Hudson was most correct – he did _not_ issue purely social invitations.  He issued invitations that seemed social on the surface, but were actually a strategic move in some game that was being played and, as such, he enjoyed them about as greatly as he did sitting across a table negotiating passage for the navy through hotly-contested seas.  This, however, was an entirely different matter, as the pounding on his bedroom door was loud and irritating testament.

      “Yes, Sherlock?  What is it now?”

      “Why are you still in your bedroom?”

      “Because my bed is a most attractive piece of furniture.  My fetish is making itself known again, so why do you not flee in terror and leave me to my own devices.”

      “Pfft.  Though I do admit your bed is the only thing sufficiently enormous to handle your bulk should sexual relations occur.”

      “Thank you, Sherlock, now if you please… go away.”

      “No.”

      “Sherlock… do find other matters to occupy your time.”

      “No.”

      “May I ask why not?”

      “To start, I enjoy annoying you.  To end, Mrs. Hudson said I could entertain Lestrade or extract you from your cocoon.  As the former is crippling to contemplate, I chose the slightly less-crippling option.”

Death!  Where is they sting!  How could… Gregory!  You utter villain!

      “M… Mr. Lestrade has already arrived?”

      “Yes.”

      “Well, it is highly improper to arrive so early for…”

      “He is not early.”

      “I assure you that he is.”

      “No, he is not.  I turned the household clocks back fifteen minutes this morning while you slept.”

      “WHAT!  Sherlock… why would you do such a thing?”

      “As I said, I enjoy annoying you.  Now, stop dithering over your appearance, which has most certainly been in place for the last three-quarters of an hour and greet your guest.”

Imbecilic child!  How utterly… it was only half an hour, thank you very much, your horrid thing.

      “That was positively rotten of you, Sherlock, and insulting to both to me and my guest.  Please tell Gregory I shall be down in just a moment.”

      “I shall tell him you have outgrown your clothing and are currently garmented in a sheet, awaiting an emergency visit by your tailor.  If you are quick, Lestrade may have failed to process my words by the time you arrive and spare you an embarrassment which will surely linger long in his mind.  Oh, that was that your shoe colliding with the door?  Poor decision, brother dear.  Now you’ll have to shine it anew.”

The second shoe hitting the door accompanied Sherlock’s own shoes darting him down the hallway with a large smile on his face.  That would teach Mycroft to deny him a new alembic just because his previous one met an untimely fate that was only partially his fault.  The… only _somewhat_ alarming fire had to assume its proper share of responsibility.  It was only fair and he was an ardent advocate of fairness when it worked to his advantage…

__________

      “I do apologize Gregory, I…”

Oh dear heavens…

      “I know.  Take the best look you can because it’ll only get better.”

This was the foulest day on record!  First Sherlock and now… Gregory was a vision in his deep gray frock coat and trousers, with embroidered, ruby-hued waistcoat underneath.

      “As… as I was saying, I do apologize, but certain matters arose that required my immediate attention.”

      “Mrs. Hudson said you had something important on and would be a few minutes.  Sherlock tried to say you were looking for your shoes, but I decided to ignore him.”

      “A wise decision, as is generally the case.  Please, do have a seat.”

Something Mycroft could dearly use, in point of fact.  What had possessed Gregory to eschew his normal, more exotic, garb and adorn himself with the clothing of a comfortable and established English gentleman?  Truly the man was an unrepentant bounder.  For what precise reason he did not know, but the general principle stood easily on its own for now.

      “Thanks!  And thank you for inviting me today.  I’ve been looking forward to it since I received your note.”

As well as racing about like a startled goose trying to pull together something a proper gentleman would wear for a very important visit.  Not that he didn’t have typical clothes to wear when he was in London, but nothing that was quite right for the impression he wanted to make.  Something that said Mycroft didn’t have to worry about being seen with him and having people wonder why a rich and powerful man was out having a nice meal with his country manor’s gamekeeper.  From the reaction he’d gotten when Mycroft saw him… it was all worth the effort.

      “I am glad to hear it.  We enjoyed such a pleasant conversation during out last meeting that it seemed a shame not to see the circumstances repeated.”

      “I agree.  And it’s a welcome thing for me since I’ve had my share of less pleasant ones the past few days.”

      “Oh… nothing concerning your work, I hope?”

      “Always about my work, but not what you’re thinking, I suspect.  Just having to talk to people about… nothing, I suppose, is the best word.  Chat about the weather, bits of news that aren’t very interesting… you know the sort of thing I mean.  I have to pay lots of calls and accept invitations to bring notice to what I do and to give the people who already support my work a chance to boast a bit to their friends about having one of those explorer fellows to tea or attend one of their parties… it’s not entirely dreary because if there is any fun to be had in a situation, I’m the man to find it, but it _is_ my least favorite part of my work.”

      “Ah, yes, I see.  And I understand perfectly.  It is similar to what I must endure to facilitate my own endeavors.  You are most correct that they are not things to stimulate the mind to any appreciable degree.”

      “Or anything else!”

That, good sir, was undeniably lewd.

      “Not a bit of stimulation for your soul, either.  Nothing real to laugh at or stir the emotions.  Just… filling time.”

Oh.  Do pardon me, Gregory, for _my_ mind is obviously having a jest at my expense.

      “I concur.  It is difficult to fathom those who find such a thing acceptable and seek it out willingly, however London seems to brim with such individuals, much to my everlasting torment.”

      “I think that’s why I like being in Africa.  The people I meet are wildly interesting and I learn so much from them.  I don’t care how small is the village we run across, I never leave without feeling profoundly blessed to have had the experience.”

      “You miss it.”

      “Being there?  I do, actually.  The learning, the experiencing… waking up each day and knowing I won’t go to bed having done exactly the same thing as I did the day before.  I’ll see new things, meet new people… and if I end up in the jaws of a lion, nobody will be able to say my life was anything but fulfilling.  It’s a good thing, don’t you think?”

      “I do, though, I must admit the physicality of your particular situation is not precisely my own bailiwick.  Each day I am presented with tasks and situations that I must confront and resolve, as well as people I must interpret and manage to best effect.  As you say, living a life that is fulfilling and challenging, albeit on my own terms.”

      “Exactly!  See… we think alike.  Understand the important things in life.”

Well, that was going a bit far.

      “Oh no, don’t look at me that way.  We _do_ think alike, at least in some ways.  Can’t think _too_ much alike, though, or we’d bore each other silly after a bit, wouldn’t we?”

It was entirely unfair to give an astute analysis and undercut my mental musings.  Definitely a bounder.

      “You _may_ have a point.”

      “That’s a victory I’ll cherish!  Now, what of those tasks and situations can you talk about?  Anything going on in the world to interest a poor adventure-starved lad like me?”

Must you be so eager for engaging conversation, Gregory?  Really, it is as if you are flaunting your attributes and that is most disagreeable.

      “There might be a few.”

      “Then by all means…”

Mycroft snorted at Lestrade’s ‘do begin’ wave of the hand but began, anyway, describing the current political outlook with one of their marginally-allied allies, never failing to notice the incisive questions asked by his guest or the counterpoints to his arguments the explorer made, based on Lestrade’s own viewpoints and perspectives.  When the conversation moved, then, to the philosophical aspects of politics and government, both men had long lost awareness of the time, something that carried them far into evening with the countless other topics that rose to be discussed…

__________

      “Sherlock!  I didn’t think I’d see you today.”

      “I had no plans for it, but Lestrade actually accepted Mycroft’s invitation and now the house is little better than a plague pit.”

John grinned widely and mentally wished his friend the best.  The stupid bastard had been beside himself the past two days, fretting over every little detail and reading _every_ newspaper he could find so he was current on the topics of the day, something you easily lost track of when you didn’t see a newspaper for months at a time.  If this Mycroft knew what was good for him, he’d take advantage of the opportunity that was landing in his lap and make both of them very happy men.  If not, then good riddance and Greg could put his efforts to better use.

      “Yeah, must be terrible for you.  I’ve just started working on something new if you’d like to join me.  Not poison this time, but medicine.  The native healers have a wealth of knowledge about the healing properties of plants and I’m hoping to do some research on that, too.”

      “I thought it was mostly ridiculous dancing in fantastical costumes and waving bones around.”

      “No, and that’s actually insulting to the people who are doing what any doctor would try and do – help their patients the best way they know.  We have our own rituals and uniforms… our own medicines and techniques.  Just because something is different doesn’t mean it’s wrong or silly.  If it works, then who are we to criticize?”

      “And _does_ it work?”

      “More times than you’d probably expect.  But, you can’t say everything the doctors in London do work, either.  That’s why we research and learn.  Maybe something they do in Africa can be of use to patients here and vice versa.  Doesn’t mean you necessarily throw away what you already do, it just means you add more weapons to your arsenal.”

      “I suppose there is merit in that.  I have already demonstrated that I am more capable with medicine than Mycroft’s personal physician, so an individual actually devoted to the task, regardless of their bone waving, could easily trump the fool in competence.”

      “Very magnanimous of you.”

      “Yes, it is.  Let me see what you have accomplished and I will determine what needs to be done so you actually meet with some success today.”

John debated flicking iodine on Sherlock’s face so people would believe he _belonged_ in some form of plague house, but reconsidered, since he had plans for the evening and two hands would increase to a very comfortable level the likelihood of not being late for those plans.

      “Alright, but don’t think you get to have all the fun while I sit on a stool and watch.”

      “I don’t really care what you do while you sit on your stool, though, by watching, you shall surely increase most significantly your repertoire of skills.  Now, have you clean glassware?  If not, go and wash some so I might begin my work.”

This time, iodine _was_ flicked, though it gave Sherlock a case of freckled hands and not the freckled face John would have dearly wanted.  Arrogant sod… but arrogant sods were sometimes what you needed when you had a lovely evening on offer and didn’t want to waste a moment of it…

__________

      “This will need to settle and the supernatant filtered well before we can proceed.”

      “Then it’s a good place to stop for the day.  I’ll put a stopper on the…”

      “Why would we stop?”

      “Because I’ve got something planned for this evening and I need a little time to make myself presentable.”

      “How can you have plans?  We still have work to do.”

      “I can have plans because I made plans.  And, we can finish this tomorrow, can’t we?”

      “That is not the point.”

      “That is exactly the point.  I told Violet I would call for her at…”

      “Violet?  Who is Violet?”

      “Not that it’s any of your business, but she’s a young woman I met at one of Greg’s talks.”

      “I did not meet anyone named Violet.”

      “You weren’t there and I have a difficult time seeing Violet or any woman, actually, allowing herself to be introduced to you.”

      “Why not?  I am a very interesting person.  However, since I doubt highly that any of the females attending Lestrade’s talk are engaged in the active pursuit of science, it is supremely unlikely they would hold _my_ interest for very long.  If at all.”

      “And my point is made.”

      “That makes no sense at all.”

      “Oh?  Well, maybe I’m just delusional.  So, we’ll set this aside and continue on tomorrow.”

      “But… now what do I do?”

      “Pardon?”

      “What am I supposed to do until then?”

      “I don’t know!  Go home, for a start.”

      “Plague pit.”

      “Visit your favorite public house and… be social.”

      “Are you telling a joke?”

      “Apparently so.  Go… don’t you have a club like the other upper-class gentleman have?”

      “I have privileges at Mycroft’s club.”

      “Then, go there.”

      “It is reminiscent of the mummy room at the Royal Museum.  In fact, I am not at all convinced that the dry and dusty figures inhabiting the chairs are not actual mummies being stored while their sarcophagi are being examined for ancient secrets.”

      “Alright… a gambling house?”

      “I am banned from all which are virtually free of typhus and bludgeoning.”

      “Oh?  Why?”

      “I win.”

      “Yeah, they don’t like that much.  A music hall?”

      “I will remind you again of typhus and bludgeoning.”

      “There are some very nice ones in the city!”

      “I will concede there are a scant few that do not require I get my affairs in order before I set foot inside, however, the quality of the performances leave much to be desired.  I could take the stage and so disgracefully shame all the musical acts that the doors of the establishment would have to be shuttered.”

      “You?  What… are you musical?”

      “I am a virtuoso with the violin.”

      “Really?”

      “Why would you doubt it?”

      “No reason, really.  It just took me by surprise.  _You_?”

      “I could perform on any stage in Europe to the highest of accolades.”

      “Well, that’s something to be proud of.”

      “Are you again jesting?”

      “No!  Not at all.  I’ve never met anyone with talent like that.  I’d like to hear you play one day.”

      “We may do that tonight.”

      “No!  Sorry, but I’ve made a commitment and I’m not a cad who fails to honor his promise to a lady.”

      “Boring.”

      “It’s not boring, it’s polite.  And I’m looking forward to it, in truth.  A nice evening with a lovely lady.  Her sister and her sister’s husband are going to be with us, but it should be an enjoyable time nonetheless.”

      “That is even more boring than you failing to arrive in the first place.”

      “Then I’ll enjoy my boringness to the fullest and see you tomorrow.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get ready.”

Sherlock pouted grandly and John had to admit the look suited the younger man very well.  But now was not the time to think about that because he _did_ have a promise to keep and keep it he would.  Besides, Sherlock would be here tomorrow so the pout wouldn’t last very long.  But, if it did, at least Sherlock would make a pretty picture to view while the work was being done…

__________

      “You are still here.  My unrest continues.”

      “Sherlock!  Your brother just wondered if you’d be back tonight or if pirates might have snatched you up instead.”

      “Mycroft was only concerned they might demand a ransom which he would have to deliver in person.  As this would entail walking, I fully understand his trepidation.”

      “Your humor, as ever, brother, is an inspiration to us all.  Do alight to your laboratory and entertain your various potions with your repartee.”

      “The one so-called potion in which I have interest is currently sitting stoppered on John’s workbench because he has no dedication to his craft and is intolerably lazy.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, but Lestrade laughed and patted the sofa next to him for Sherlock to take a seat, which Sherlock, surprisingly, did.

      “Forgot about that.  He had to get ready to meet Miss Violet, didn’t he?”

Sherlock re-engaged the pout, something that intrigued Mycroft mightily because it was quite an interesting intensity for something as simple as the early cessation of his planned work session.

      “Why John would use his time in such a foolish manner is profoundly baffling.”

Lestrade grinned widely and tried to get Mycroft to share that grin, but failed utterly.

      “Well, I admit he won’t have the same enjoyment as working on important scientific research with you, lad, but there are other types of fun to be had in this world and John’s a well-rounded man.”

      “If that were true, he would have accepted my invitation to hear my recital on violin.”

Mycroft’s sputter was, thankfully, lost on Sherlock, but Lestrade’s ears were honed by years in the jungle at night where the slightest sound could be information a man needed to stay alive.  Apparently, his host was finally catching the scent of this particular situation.

      “Violin!  That’s a fine thing, Sherlock and I would very much like to hear that myself, but don’t worry too terribly much about John.  He had already made an invitation and he was honor-bound to follow through.  It’s what you have to do to be a gentleman.  It’s not going to lead to anything, though, just you watch and see.  He’ll be back to focusing on you and your research before you know it.”

And, hopefully, before he knew it, Mycroft’s heart would start beating again.  A violin recital!  Sherlock… Sherlock never offered to play for _anyone_ , save Mrs. Hudson and Mummy.  This was staggering.  Positively staggering.  And such distress at that… oh dear heavens.  His brother was feeling… spurned.  All of this implied connection for if there was no connection, there was nothing to be betrayed.  This was tremendously unexpected.  He had hoped his brother’s apparent interest in the good doctor might lead do some form of, perhaps, friendship, but he had not expected anything to occur so quickly!  Oh… this was a spectacularly pleasing turn of events.  Provided Gregory’s assessment of the matter was accurate, of course.

      “I care little for what he does.”

      “Of course, lad.  I know that.  Just saying the facts out loud.  Besides, John’s said, on several occasions, how much he enjoys working with you and how impressed he is with your abilities and the progress the two of you are making.  He’s _very_ pleased with things.  Not that you care.”

      “Precisely.”

Oh, but Sherlock did care.  Both Mycroft and Lestrade caught the tiniest of grins that broke for the smallest of seconds on Sherlock’s lips and each man congratulated themselves on not letting Sherlock know they’d noticed anything at all.

      “It might be time, brother, for you to begin a series of projects in your own laboratory.  You did say the facilities you possess were of higher quality and usefulness than what John currently has on hand.”

And, it would allow proper vetting of the good doctor for suitability as a companion for Sherlock.  It was older brother’s duty to see these things done and done they would be, the sooner the better, given the events of tonight.

      “You may be right.  It took a full forty percent longer today to perform the separating process than it should have given the proper equipment.  After tomorrow, the more critical of our procedures will be moved here for the sake of efficiency.”

This time, when Lestrade grinned, he received a minute twitch of Mycroft’s lips in return.

      “Very wise, lad.  Efficiency is a thing to be prized.”

      “That is not a sentiment I expected you to champion Lestrade, however, it is certainly the truth.”

      “Then, do prepare a list of any items you might require for this particular area of research, Sherlock, and I will provide the funds to see them purchased.  Do not, however, take that as license to restock the entirety of your laboratory.  I _will_ examine your list and take a dim view of avarice.”

      “You do not have the proper knowledge to evaluate my needs, Mycroft.”

      “Perhaps, but I have a practiced eye for your flimflammery, so tread lightly.  Now, do not let us detain you.  I am certain you have better use to which to put your time.”

      “Undoubtedly.  My list will be on your desk by morning and I will see it filled with the greatest possible alacrity.”

Sherlock sprung up from the sofa and strode out of the room like a prince, which the other men politely ignored until he was gone, with the door closed behind him, when Lestrade’s laugh and Mycroft’s soft chuckle filled the room.

      “Poor lad… had his feelings bruised.”

      “Most certainly.  I am astounded that it occurred, for my brother is notorious for his inability to form friendships.  I… I had hoped his enthusiasm for this partnership would eventually grow into some form of camaraderie, but I had no idea he would have formed an attachment so readily.  I am very encouraged by this, Gregory, I shall not deny it in the least.  A friend would do Sherlock a world of good, I have great faith, and I believe he has harbored some faint, but lingering, hope to see one himself, despite his failure to gain such in the past.”

      “Well, I can tell you this since we’re sharing stories… John could use one, too.  He’s a decent, honorable chap that I’m proud to call a friend of my own, but he has his own troubles making connections with people.  Lost a lot of friends when he was in the army and that’s hard on a man, especially when you watch them die when you’re trying your damndest to save them.  It makes you wary, I think.  Not that he’s cold or distant, mind you.  Couldn’t ask for a better mate to have at your side when you’re looking for a long chat on a cold evening or a good night in good town with some good entertainment.  He’d match up well with Sherlock, I think.  But, I’m certain you’re going to verify that for yourself straight away.”

How well you already know my methods, Gregory.  That is of interest, in and of itself.

      “But of course!  As helpful I believe it to be for Sherlock to form a friendship, it would be of consequential damage to have hope he was forming one and find those hopes dashed.  I worry about him, Gregory.  I worry constantly and, yes, I will worry for this until I am satisfied that he, at minimum, has good chances of seeing something positive spring from this association.”

      “And I wouldn’t expect any less.  It’s good you care, Mycroft.  It’s wonderful, actually.  Sherlock’s lucky to have a brother like you.”

Something that, to hear it said so plainly and earnestly, made Mycroft feel a very unexpected and powerful surge of emotion.  It had been the work of his life to take care of Sherlock and it was a unfailingly thankless duty to perform.  A few small words of acknowledgement were like cool water on the hottest of summer days.

      “Thank you, Gregory.  It is kind of you to say so.”

      “Honesty, purely honesty.  Oh, but I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten.  I’m sorry for that, Mycroft.  I’m sure you didn’t intend to spend your afternoon _and_ evening entertaining a guest.”

No, but given the fact that time had moved with absolutely no marking by him of its passage, Mycroft could not say that he particularly cared.

      “Actually, I left the remainder of my day open for I knew not how long our visit would last, so do not worry I have left anything undone for the sake of our conversation.”

Something that was partially true.  What had been left undone would be completed tonight once Gregory departed, which was not anomalous for the household given Sherlock’s tendency to create this or that debacle that required the moving of heaven and earth before the dinner hour.

      “Brilliant man!  Already realized I have a bit of a waggy tongue, haven’t you?  It’s another of the many traits I’m very proud of.”

Was that… indecent?  Gregory’s slightly wicked grin implied the answer was yes, however… no, do not contemplate the issue for one misapprehension in your ledger is quite enough today.  Though… the whiff of indecency _was_ quite pungent…

      “I am certain your heart is a glad one.”

      “That and the rest of me.  I’ll say my goodbyes, though, so you can get on with your night.”

Mycroft found himself unsettlingly disappointed by the statement, but rose to escort his guest to the door.

      “Of course.  It was gracious of you to give me this generous measure of your time.”

      “I’m happy to be generous with whatever you might want, Mycroft.”

Salacity!

      “Conversation, seed planting, poking a bit of fun at Sherlock… I’m happy to be generous with it all.”

No salacity!  Judging these things was infuriatingly difficult!  In any case, it was highly inappropriate to assume Gregory was being sexually provocative.  It was… entirely out of bounds and completely inconceivable given their respective genders and the sure nature of the explorer’s preferences.

      “Thank you, Gregory.  That is very decent of you to offer.”

Lestrade had a quip ready to tack onto the word ‘offer,’ but decided he’d teased Mycroft enough for one night.  There was plenty of time for teasing during their next visit.  Which, from Mycroft’s visible frown when he announced he was leaving, was certainly going to happen.  Hurray!

      “Then do take advantage of me whenever you’d like.”

Alright, he couldn’t leave without _one_ more bit of teasing.  He was Greg Lestrade, for pity’s sake!

      “I… well… of course?”

      “Excellent.  And you’ll say goodbye to Mrs. Hudson for me, won’t you?  Oh, and remind her that whenever she’d like to bring Mrs. Turner around the RGS for a tour, just send word and I’ll happily escort them.”

      “I do hope she has not imposed upon you.”

      “No imposition whatsoever!  Always happy to help people learn more about the world around them and the sorts of things that are out there beyond the city borders.  Besides it’s fun to do something nice for a lovely woman who’d never have the chance for something like that if she hadn’t met me.”

Something Mycroft knew to be unfortunately true.  A housekeeper had no chance of a private tour for anything in the city, let alone an august institution like the Royal Geographical Society.  It was a mark of Gregory’s character that, to him, Mrs. Hudson’s station in life made no difference in her value as a person and that she deserved something normally reserved for those of significantly higher status.

      “I shall ensure she does not forget.”

      “Fantastic!  Well… goodnight, Mycroft.  I hope we can do this again.  Or you can come for your own tour.  Whatever you’d enjoy.”

A small portion of Mycroft’s disappointment evaporated and he felt lighter for it.  Gregory was satisfied with his company, tested now a second time and that was, oddly, something for which he felt rather triumphant.  It was utterly ridiculous, as he had no anxiety over his presentation… no, attempting mental arrogance was not working in the slightest.  He had suffered some degree of anxiety over his presentation and Gregory had laid it to rest.  There was no declaring this anything but a success and a singular one for him.  And… oh dear… he had not seen Gregory’s exquisite top hat before now.  Could the man have one imperfect element to his garments this evening?  Was that really too much to ask? 

      “I shall consult my schedule for an appropriate window of time.”

Lestrade mentally ran in large circle shouting in victory.  That was something to keep him warm tonight – not a ‘perhaps,’ but a checking of the schedule.  So… was it too soon to drop a hint?  Wave the tiniest of flags that said ‘hello, but if you want someone to keep _you_ warm at some point, in bed, I mean, I’m your man?’  Yeah, it probably was.  But, Mycroft did react beautifully to things he couldn’t decipher completely…

      “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.  Have a good night, Mycroft.”

Lestrade gave a small and slightly cheeky bow, using the motion to shift position slightly so that when he walked out the front door, his hand gently brushed against Mycroft’s, something the explorer failed to comment on and simply tipped his hat to his host before he started off down the road.  That was quite enough, though, because seeing Mycroft’s mind already setting to work analyzing the ‘accidental’ gesture, was putting a sizeable spring in his step.  Oh yes, today was a good day… one of the finest, he’d feel quite safe saying, which was appropriate for fine men like himself and Mr. Mycroft Holmes…  Very fine in Mycroft’s case and maybe, just maybe, he’d get to see _all_ of the man’s fineness at some point in the future…


	7. Chapter 7

      “Sherlock!  You’re here early.  That anxious to continue last night’s work?”

John smiled at the dark-haired head peeking up from behind a table and had to admit it was a welcome sight.  It was a fairly sad state of affairs that he had spent his evening with Violet thinking about his and Sherlock’s work and it was fairly certain his lack of attentiveness was not going to win him a second opportunity to call on that particular young lady at any time in the future.

      “Yes.  Also, to decide what we might wish to take with us to my laboratory so that it can be pressed into service until Mycroft sees my equipment list filled.  I anticipate it shall take only a few days, but some of the items are slightly advanced for the standard supplier and might require hand-fabrication by a qualified craftsman.  I believe, however, we can make do until then for those few things.”

      “Oh… you want to move to your house already?”

      “It is a matter of efficiency.  Also, unlimited tea, which seems to be a factor in your effectiveness.”

      “Well, I do believe you’ve stumbled onto my secret, Mr. Holmes.  Quite dastardly of you.  But, since I don’t mind dastardly, what can I do to help?”

      “Hmmmm… I had not planned on your assistance for this, so I shall have to think.  I supposed you would sleep to a late hour, owing to the activities of your evening.”

      “No, wide awake and ready to work.”

      “Was your assignation not a successful one?”

John made note of the slight shift in Sherlock’s tone, but wasn’t exactly sure what to make of it.  Probably just relief that a potential interruption to their work wasn’t going to be a _continual_ interruption, however… no matter what it was, he didn’t find himself minding terribly much and that was a handy bit of intrigue to start the day.

      “Depends on what you mean by successful.  Miss Violet’s brother-in-law didn’t challenge me to a duel and I wasn’t threatened with arrest for inappropriate conduct towards a lady, so I won’t say it was as bad as _some_ of the assignations I’ve had in the past.”

      “That does not sound terribly enjoyable.”

      “Like I said, I’ve had worse.  Anyway, about that tea…”

      “There is your burner and there is your water barrel.  Combine with tea leaves and magic will occur.”

      “Tea _is_ magic, thank you very much, so your sarcasm is grossly misplaced.”

Sherlock snorted and went back to his work, not noticing John’s smile any more than John noticed his.  Tea or not, this was going to be a successful day and not even Mycroft’s strange mood this morning was going to impede that…

__________

      “Mr. Holmes?  _Mr. Holmes_?  MR. HOLMES!”

      “Good heavens, Mrs. Hudson!  I am not deaf!”

      “You could have fooled me.  Been yelling at you for a solid hour now.”

      “That is patently untrue.”

      “Not that you could prove it because you’ve not paid the slightest bit of attention to anything since you woke this morning.  Did you even notice that Sherlock put a live sheep on his science list?  I can’t believe you have your head on your shoulders if you missed that particular business.  Well, let me tell you know that _I_ won’t be cleaning up after it!”

Mycroft reached across his desk, drawing over Sherlock’s note and sighed loudly at the items which, yes, had slipped his notice.

      “I have not placed any orders to have this filled, Mrs. Hudson, so do not worry that the house shall become some form of farmyard.  Or a battlefield.  For what reason would Sherlock require a cannon?  Really, what goes in his mind?

      “Apparently that you’re out of sorts this morning and he could use that to his advantage.”

      “He certainly is one to capitalize on a situation and I applaud his initiative, if not the motivations behind it.”

      “Want to share what has you lost in your own head or is it another of your boring bits of political nonsense?”

      “The world is quite free of nonsense this morning, Mrs. Hudson.  At least, free of nonsense beyond its usual, rather staggering, quantity.”

      “Oh.  Then it’s about your Mr. Lestrade.  That’s more like it.”

Mrs. Hudson jumped into the chair across from Mycroft and rubbed her hands together in anticipation.

      “Come on, you can tell me.  How was your visit?”

      “I would have thought you would have implemented the most vigorous of your surveillance tactics for that particular event.”

      “Had to polish up the silver since you sacked the butler and haven’t bothered to hire anyone to replace him.  That does wreak havoc with my surveillance, let me tell you.”

      “What a tragedy for you.  And, for your information, Mr. Lestrade and I enjoyed a cordial and relaxing visit that offers no examples of perturbation to enliven your day.”

      “Drat.  No, good!  Good… that means all went well and you’ll have him around again.  When’s that going to be so I can order in a cask of good ale for the occasion.  Mr. Lestrade seems the type to like a nice bit of strong beer in the evening and there’s no reason we can’t oblige.  Oh!  And I still have to send him a dinner invitation.  What day do you have free this coming week for that?  Not Tuesday, because that’s when we’ve got the big cleaning to do and it always leaves you in one of your sighing moods, rather like this morning, and your guest doesn’t need to see that staring at him across the dinner table.”

Mycroft began to sigh, then pulled it back, and frowned dourly instead.

      “I believe you are getting rather ahead of yourself, Mrs. Hudson.  I have yet to issue another invitation to Mr. Lestrade and I am certain that he has his own business with which to attend, as well as, other homes he has been invited to visit.”

      “Man like him, I’m certain he does, that’s why you have to get yours in and don’t let other houses monopolize his time.”

      “This is not a contest, Mrs. Hudson!”

      “Of course it is!  You know society well enough by now.  This sort of thing is _entirely_ a contest and you need to win.  Not for the rights to boast, of course, but to make it so Mr. Lestrade has plenty of examples of your hospitality to know that he’s made a good choice about who to take on as a friend in this world.  So, where’s your schedule?”

One small, quick hand began to rummage through the papers on Mycroft’s desk, only to be gently lifted away from the desk by a larger one that held it in place while Mycroft gave his companion a purposeful raised eyebrow.

      “When I deem it appropriate, I may, _may_ , extend another invitation to Mr. Lestrade and not a moment before.  In any case, he did ask me to notify you that he is looking forward to your visit to the RGS and will be most happy to escort you and Mrs. Turner for your tour.”

Mrs. Hudson retrieved her hand and clapped it together gleefully with her less-snoopy one.

      “What a gentleman, he is.  I’ll have to see if Mrs. Turner can switch her afternoon off so we can…”

      “Please do take whatever time you might require, Mrs. Hudson, to facilitate the timing of your visit.  I would hate for you to lose this opportunity because of the requirements of scheduling.”

      “That’s most thoughtful of you, Mr. Holmes.  And because you’re being so accommodating, I’ll set aside, for now, wondering about when Mr. Lestrade is going to pay us another visit.”

      “Thank you.”

      “I was actually more concerned, you see, if it was going to happen in the next day or two but since that’s likely not the case…”

The upward inflection on ‘case,’ did make Mycroft sigh because what was to follow was surely not to be of his liking.

      “… I don’t have to worry about this conflicting with any other plans.”

As soon as Mrs. Hudson drew the envelope out of her apron pocket, Mycroft turned his sigh into a groan because there was no mistaking the seal, even though it already had been neatly broken.

      “When?”

      “Your mother’s going to be on the early train tomorrow so she should be here by lunch.”

      “Simply joyful.  Does she say _why_ she is coming to London?”

      “Some business with hats.  There’s a hat maker here she’s heard about and wants to visit.  It didn’t sound like she was going to say very long, though.  Overnight, I suspect, but not much more.”

Mycroft wished it was later in the day so a large and sturdy brandy would be considered appropriate, but as he had no desire to greet the likely arrival of Sherlock’s new associate in an inebriated state, it would have to wait.  For now.

      “Very well.  Please prepare a room for her and notify Cook.  You know how Mummy can be.”

      “That I do, so I’ll let you in on the fact that there’s some lovely marzipan in your hidden sweets supply.  A nice bit of something sweet always makes you feel better about your mother coming to visit and, that way, you can get back to you sighing and staring at empty space.”

Since making a rude face would likely remove any _future_ marzipan from his sweets supply, Mycroft waited until his housekeeper had left the room to revert to the nursery and make the rudest face a petulant child could muster.  First Gregory and now Mummy… was this house never to see placidity again this century?

And… what to say about Gregory?  Their visit had been nothing short of splendid… the precise model he had secretly dreamed about in his youth for having a bosom companion at one’s side.  The comfortable conversation with which one did not grow bored, the easy laughter that was especially bolstering to someone who rarely had cause to laugh… even their disagreements on issues were enjoyable!  Gregory’s mind offered fresh perspectives that the explorer did not hesitate to put forth and defend most vigorously.  Truly, a splendid evening… then Gregory touched his hand.  A gentle thing before gloves were donned, brief as a wisp of breeze, yet his body had still not recovered from the shock and the… stimulation.

He _was_ a child!  Still playing the moment over in his mind and savoring the memory of that fleeting contact.  What was going on with him?  Was this what the… average… person experienced when they spoke of attraction?  If so, then he was damned glad he’d stayed well out of it!  Though ‘stayed,’ in its past-tense glory, was, unfortunately, the proper term for it because not even he was sufficiently duplicitous to claim he was not attracted to Gregory Lestrade.  The man was stunningly virile in appearance and his suite of non-physical traits was as stimulating as the feel of his warm, rough skin.  Which was foolishly romantic to think, worse than something drawn from one of the rather dreadful stories Mrs. Hudson was forever reading, but… it was _not_ something from he had been able to turn his attention since he felt that skin slide tenderly along his own.

And it was all for naught!  All his mental drivel was positively for naught and therefore an incalculable waste of time.  Or… no, he could not even spare a thought for ‘or’ because Gregory was surely not a man who shared his tastes.  Such a ruggedly masculine creature, who happily courted the attentions of the women at his lectures… he could not have _leanings_.  It simply was not done.  Though… oh, dwell not on ‘though,’ for ‘though’ was surely a road that led nowhere.  There was no meaning in Gregory’s look after the grace of his accidental caress.  Nor his lack of apology that another gentleman would have offered without hesitation.  The man was an explorer, for heaven’s sake!  Their set of social rules was certainly not up to standard, though credit would be given for Gregory’s notable attempt at a greater nod to propriety for this particular visit.  

But… and this was the most incredulous and theoretical of ‘buts’… he had heard tales, hushed and scandalous though they be, of individuals who were… broader… in their preferences than the norm.  Who might not consider the attraction to women a barrier to an attraction to men, as well.  It was an utterly bohemian notion and, certainly lacking merit, however… dear heavens, ‘however’ was just as useless as or, though and but.  No amount of addled romanticizing would change the facts and facts were most certainly that in which he put his faith.

At best, and it was becoming clear that this was absolutely something he would like to explore further, Gregory would become someone he could call friend and they would continue to have enjoyable evenings together, when, of course, Gregory was actually in the country.  That was the utmost for which he could hope and that was… that was enough.  More than enough, in truth.  Far more than he had ever imagined wanting and he would be most satisfied if that were the outcome of these initial meetings.

Now, on to more important things.  He had quite the volume of correspondence to manage and… though brandy was out of the question, marzipan certainly was not.  One could not face correspondence with weak blood, now could one, and almonds were surely considered a healthy fuel for one’s blood-boosting mechanics…

__________

      “Look at you two… packing to go on expedition without me? For shame…”

Sherlock snorted at Lestrade and did his best to ignore the explorer who had joined them after another of his seemingly endless meetings with current or potential patrons.

      “Sherlock and I are going to take some things to his laboratory so we can continue working with his equipment.  How was the visit with Lord Hastings?”

      “Good!  Or, as good as any with those who are more keen to tell people they support exploration than hearing about the exploration they actually support.  Not that I mind, of course.  And, to be honest, he was a more affable gent than most.  Actually asked some good questions and showed interest in the answers.  I think we can count on a nice cheque from him when the RGS comes calling, hat in hand, with the other stretched out to grab that nice cheque and run it to the bank.”

      “If the prostitutes in London had your work ethic for solicitation, Lestrade, they would be the richest individuals in the city.”

      “Hey!  Hard work should see good pay and, for your information, without money, we don’t go back and find more poisons and things for you to investigate.”

      “Hmmmm… that is true.  Very well, you have my permission to continue your prostitution.”

      “You’re a grand fellow, Sherlock.  John, you certain you want to fall further into this one’s clutches.  Once he gets you home, he might lock you away like in one of those novels where you’ve got to work for him for ever and ever if you want to get your daily bread and a breath of fresh air once in awhile.”

      “You said their house was nice, though, so it might be better than sitting in a leaky tent hoping the insect netting actually works and shaking dust out of my bedding.”

      “Ah… paradise.”

While John and Lestrade laughed at their shared memories, Sherlock put the last of their supplies in the boxes and harrumphed loudly when he was done.

      “John, obtain a hansom so we might leave.”

      “Me?  Do we need to go over the slavery issue again, Sherlock?”

      “Would you rather carry the boxes to the door?  I thought that, with your shortish arms, it was a job better suited for me.  And Lestrade.”

      “Oh, well, carry on then.  I’m off to hail a hansom.”

John darted out the door before Greg could protest, which, of course, the explorer did, and loudly at that.

      “Hey!  How did I get involved in your science experiments?”

      “Because if you do, I will see that Mycroft hands you one of the nice cheques that you covet.”

      “First, if I agreed to that, you’d take it to mean I’d help you with your science things until the day I died, so no thank you.  Second, I don’t want Mycroft’s money.  I don’t like taking money from friends.”

      “So… you consider him a friend.”

      “Ummm… I consider him as much of a friend as your brother… I mean, as is possible at this point, what with us just having started to get to know each other.”

      “You are lying, but since the matter is of no interest to me, I truly don’t care.  Now, you will take that box, for the contents are not delicate and will not suffer because of your clumsy grip.”

Sherlock picked up his own box and marched out of the lab, but, not before Lestrade caught a tiny twitch of his lips at his news.  Wasn’t that nice… Sherlock wanted a friend for his brother.  Well, it would be incredibly rude to disappoint the boy, so things would go forward as planned.  Not that he _had_ a firm plan yet, but unplanned plans were a Greg Lestrade specialty…

__________

      “If you see something that resembles a mammoth, ignore it.  That is simply my brother.”

John alighted from the cab and looked at the large, imposing residence and decided that it was the perfect place to house a private laboratory.  And there was tea!  Probably very good tea, too, with proper cups and not the chipped, heavy thing he had to use at the RGS.  Alright… this was shaping up to be a very fine experience.

      “We will proceed thusly.  I will bring one box into the house.  You may bring the second.  And pay the hansom.”

Reconsidering the very fine bit…

      “No.  This time, Sherlock, I’ll handle the boxes and you sort out the hansom.  See you at the door.”

Sherlock pouted as John darted out of the cab much faster than he could and, now, his lunch money had to be spent and not saved for more important things.  John was a sneaky and evil creature…

      “Come on, Sherlock!  I don’t want the local constable to think I’m looking the place over for a burglary!”

But, if sneaky, evil John was arrested he would lose his assistant and that was certainly not to his advantage.

      “Kindly stop shouting and bringing disgrace to my threshold!”

Content with his rejoinder, Sherlock grudgingly paid for the cab, then ported his box to the door and felt no surprise when it was opened by Mrs. Hudson who had certainly been keeping an eye out for him to return home with his guest. 

      “Oh, Sherlock, look at you.  Do you really need more… things?  Boxes of things? And please tell me this is Doctor Watson and not some poor dear you paid to experiment on.”

Back to very fine and in high style… John had to admit this was shaping up very much along the strange and entertaining lines he had expected.

      “No, ma’am.  It’s hard enough to get Sherlock to pay for a cab, let alone what it would cost to hire a human test subject, so I think you’re free from that particular worry.  John Watson, at your service.”

John snickered at Sherlock’s snort when he bowed slightly and made his conversation partner giggle.

      “You’ll fit in nicely here, Doctor Watson.  I’m Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper.  Just let me know if you need anything.”

Before John could provide a detailed list, Sherlock pushed past Mrs. Hudson and motioned his guest to follow, leaving John to grab his own box and dash after the taller figure who was keeping a very watchful eye out for…

      “Ah, Sherlock.  I did wonder when you would return.”

…Mycroft.

      “And were you also spying out of the window or is that simply Mrs. Hudson’s forte?”

      “It is rather amazing, brother dear, but the human body is possessed something termed ‘ears.’  I would assume with your rather intensive study of anatomy you might have come across a mention or two of them in your books.”

      “Oh no, you are trying humor again.  I should prepare a chart to document your successes and failures.  Though, the columns to tally the data certainly do not need to be symmetrical for one of those columns shall gather a thumb’s width of dust before seeing a single mark.”

      “And this must be Doctor Watson.  Greetings to you, sir.  I am happy to have you in my home.”

Mycroft ran an appraising eye over John and was both startled and grudgingly impressed that the shorter man did the same to him.

      “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.  It’s a handsome house, that’s for certain.  I’m grateful that you’re letting Sherlock and me work here.”

      “Mycroft does not ‘let’ me conduct my research!”

      “As you witness, Doctor Watson, it is to my benefit that Sherlock be kept busy with whatever might strike his fancy for my day is a much more placid one that might otherwise exist.  Now, I do have matters to which to attend, but do enjoy yourself and let me know if there is anything you require.”

Mycroft gave John one last look over and returned to his study, which he had certainly not abandoned to keep an eye on the window during the likely period of Sherlock’s return home.  So far, he would give Doctor John Watson an acceptable mark.  Confident, affable man, with some notable steel in his spine.  Must have intelligence or Sherlock would not be offering the man the time of day.  Craver of adventure and, perhaps, a bit of danger in his life… no firm commitment to society’s rules or expectations, a sense of duty and honor… yes, a good fit for Sherlock.  Now, it was simply a matter of whether the good doctor believed the same or if the proverbial greener pastures were beginning to tempt him.  Sherlock could be so very troublesome, at times…

For his part, John watched Mycroft walk to his study and hoped he wasn’t visibly grinning, because Sherlock would surely tell Greg and Greg would give him a knock that wouldn’t heal for a week.  So… that was the man the mighty Greg Lestrade was feeling a bit of lust over.  No, that was not giving the situation its full due.  Greg was pining over Mr. Holmes like a ridiculous, lovesick fool and wasn’t that the most interesting thing he’d seen since coming back to London.  Alright, that wasn’t quite true because _Sherlock_ was actually the most interesting thing he’d seen since coming back to London, but that was an entirely different matter.

However, he had to admit that Sherlock’s brother was his own variety of interesting.  Not _his_ type, of course, but the appeal was certainly there.  Especially for someone like Greg who, though he denied it like the lying rotter he actually was, hoped to find a body to love, _really_ love, and build a life with.  How that could occur with him flitting back and forth between London and parts unknown, he had no clue, but Gregory Lestrade was a confirmed romantic and his desperate attempt to try and hide that was just embarrassing.  So, here we have a mature man with a strong mind, comfortable lifestyle and maybe a need for a little fun and excitement to round out the picture.  Well, there was nobody better for that than Greg.  Definitely possibilities here…

      “Why are you staring at my brother?”

But not if he did something stupid and mucked up the entire business.

      “Actually, I was thinking about how different your brother is from what I pictured.”

      “I gave you an accurate description before we left the cab.”

      “Your brother isn’t a mammoth, Sherlock.”

      “Whereas I respect that you might not wish to hurt the feelings of any remaining members of the mammoth species walking the Earth, I can assure you, he is.”

John tutted Sherlock’s nonsense and affected the best ‘well, are we going?’ look he could, which was good enough for Sherlock to get the message and continue on upstairs to his laboratory.

      “Oh… alright, this is certainly better than what I’ve got at the RGS.”

Looking around at the space, John had to admit there was advantage to being wealthy.  He didn’t particularly like the social restrictions that came with being well-to-do, but… yes, there were certainly advantages.

      “I believe this was formerly a suite for the children of the house, however, I am putting it to much better use.”

      “And you said your brother is having some extra equipment brought in?”

      “Yes.  Occasionally, Mycroft is good for something other than occupying vast quantities of space.”

      “I’d say so, if it helps with our research.  Well, shall we get to unpacking?  I’d like to see what we can do with this lovely space.”

      “Yes, we should definitely make a start.  Mrs. Hudson will certainly be bothering us soon for her nonsensical need to press food and drink upon any creature that finds itself under this roof and, given the opportunity, will further attempt to distract us with conversation and gossip.”

Something with which John could find not a shred of fault.  He wouldn’t say out loud that a bit of free food and drink was going to make a noticeable difference in his purse, but for all the fun he had with his work, it didn’t make a man rich.  And, what he did with that little extra in his pocket was entirely at his discretion.  A nice bit of drink after a good day’s work, for instance.  And, if his laboratory partner decided to participate in the partaking… well, who didn’t enjoy a bit of company with their drink?  Not John Watson, that’s for sure.  He loved company.  Especially company who was _interesting_ …

__________

      “Alright… I’ve not seen that much progress in a day for quite some time.  I have to admit, Sherlock, this was a very good idea and I’ll happily thank you for it.”

      “I am also content with what we have accomplished, despite the additional distraction we encounter here.”

Which mean tea trays, lunch, Mycroft’s one visit to assess the safety of the current suite of experiments and Mrs. Hudson’s reminder to open a window before they suffocated on chemical fumes.  Frankly, John was more than happy with the balance between distraction and work, especially since he had the energy to go strong all day and didn’t have to be dragged outside to exchange the gases in his lungs for actual air.

      “Good, then.  Do you want me to meet you here tomorrow or…”

Sherlock tapped his lower lip with a stirring rod John could only hope was somewhat clean and thought a moment before replying.

      “That is probably the most efficient plan.  I will expect you early, however, I will offer breakfast as incentive for your timely arrival.”

      “I do respond well to incentives.  And, an early start is good for tomorrow because I actually have to give my own talk in the afternoon to a medical group at St. Bart’s.  I have to work on that tonight, actually.  I don’t do as many of these as Greg, so I have to prepare a little better than he does.”

      “That is acceptable.  I will, also, attend.  I know several practitioners on staff and I have not paid a visit of late to see if any interesting medical cases have presented themselves.  It will be good time to rectify that and ascertain if there are any corpses of note to observe.”

      “Oh, well we can go together then.  I have an old mate that works there, Michael Stamford.  I can introduce you to him.”

      “I am already acquainted with Stamford.  He is more competent than most, though, given the minimal standards at St. Bart’s, that is not the most stellar of endorsements.”

      “Now, there’s a coincidence!  Should be a pleasant afternoon, then.  We can stop in at a coffee house or something after my talk and have a chat.  Imagine you knowing Stamford… the world is a very small place sometimes.”

      “Seeing that I regularly visit that hospital, it is not particularly unexpected that I know the staff.”

      “You have no sense of wonder, Sherlock Holmes.  None at all.”

      “As wonder does not facilitate my work, I am not aggrieved by the accusation.”

John laughed and shook his head, wondering how in the world Sherlock was able to go out in public and not get his head knocked off his shoulders.  Luckily, if the staff at St. Bart’s already knew Sherlock, tomorrow shouldn’t turn into a brawl.  Though, in truth, there was a lot of fun to be had with a good brawl and, he simply knew that Sherlock would be a hell of a thing to watch when the fists were flying…

__________

Sherlock saw John to the door and made a bet with himself as to who would be behind him when he turned back around, losing an imaginary shilling when it was his brother and not his housekeeper.  Mycroft had become intolerably nosy of late…

      “Ah, Sherlock.  You have finished your research for the day?”

      “I have.  We will continue tomorrow morning, and, in the afternoon, I will accompany John to a lecture he will present at St. Bart’s.”

      “No, tomorrow you will be endure the pain of one of Mummy’s thankfully-infrequent visits to London, as will I.”

      “What!  No!  I will place explosives and destroy the train tracks before I allow that to happen!”

      “Whereas I would tend to support the action were it a line reserved solely for passenger traffic, as correspondence and goods are also transported, I believe I will have to prohibit such tactics.  Now, do choose your garments with care tomorrow, for you know how Mummy feels about slovenliness or… panache.”

      “At what time is she scheduled to arrive?”

      “She is taking the first train, so perform the calculations.”

      “Excellent.  John will be here for breakfast, so we will not be interrupted for several hours and can leave before she descends upon us.”

      “Wrong.  She is your mother as much as mine and, as such, you will lift your share of the proverbial load.”

      “Not by choice, she is not!  I was not consulted on the issue prior to my conception!”

      “Neither was I.”

      “Yes, but, as the eldest, it was your duty to step in and prevent my future suffering.”

      “I should have forestalled your creation and entry into the world?  Well, that is certainly the most interesting argument you have put forth yet to avoid greeting Mummy, however, as with all previous, it is falling upon deaf ears.  Mummy will enjoy her typical household-upending visit and we will use pins, ropes and some form of mechanical contraptions to keep our smiles affixed to our faces until she leaves again.  And, before you continue on, that is most certainly the end of the matter.”

      “I still have a plethora of arguments to put forth, that being the weakest of the lot, so the matter is in no manner ended!”

Mycroft sighed his hundredth sigh of the day and imagined a life that was actually sedate and restful.  For a highly solitary household, his days never seemed to fit that pattern, no matter how hard he tried.

      “And I am certain you are anxious to enumerate them.  Come, join me in the library and we will enjoy a glass of port while you orate your list and, further, regale me with the tales of your research successes.  Doctor Watson seemed a very eager colleague for your work.”

With Sherlock mentally preparing his dissertation on why he should be excused from maternal tending and the exceptional importance and success of his experiments, Mycroft was able to steer the younger Holmes into the library to start the process of winding Sherlock down enough so the boy might actually see some sleep that night.  Sherlock’s sleep habits were as sporadic as his own, but both required a good night’s rest to prepare for the coming storm.  Who wanted a new hat…

__________

      “Well, bless my soul… John Watson!  Come back safely from the war.  How went the battle?”

John pretended to laugh heartily and took a seat in the tiny sitting room that came with Greg’s lodgings, putting his feet up on the small table that already propped up the explorer’s own.

      “Good!  I think it’s going to work very well, actually.  Sherlock’s laboratory is _impressive_ and I can’t say he’s anything but highly skilled at chemistry.  This could actually lead to something important, something useful.  We might be able to see some real attention for the work rather than just a small note in a medical publication because I couldn’t go farther with my findings.  And Mycroft seems to support his brother’s interests, so we won’t lack for supplies, which is always another of my problems.  I rather have the feeling Mr. Holmes has more money than he can spend in this life.”

      “And he has that money because he’s smart enough not to fritter it away, so don’t start thinking you and Sherlock have found a private bank.”

      “Oh, listen to you watching out for your Mr. Holmes.  He should be flattered.  Interesting man, by the by.  Certainly not one to take lightly.  And probably a very cozy one to have with you when winter starts to creep into the bones.”

John took great satisfaction from seeing the small flare of jealousy in Lestrade’s eyes and relished the possibilities for riling his friend at any unlimited numbers of points in the future.  Like now.

      “That last bit, John, you can wash right out of your mind.”

      “Can’t.  Good-sized chap like that has to be a blessing on a cold night, even if he just lets you stand close and wraps his arms around you while you watch the stars.  For a smaller fellow like me, that would be a marvelous thing.”

Ooh!  That was an almost Sherlock-worthy glare.  You couldn’t buy entertainment this good.

      “Nope.  Not going to work.  I’m not falling for your shenanigans.  Though, you’re actually right about that last bit.  He’s put together gloriously, isn’t he?”

Besotted… poor bastard was absolutely besotted and woe be to Mycroft Holmes if he didn’t jump at the chance for a good man like Greg to get the chance to show him his interest.

      “And what are you going to do to take advantage of that, Mr. Gregory Lestrade, famed explorer and man of the world?”

      “I’ve got plans.”

      “No, you don’t.”

      “Alright, no I don’t, but I’m in the planning a plan stage and that’s just as good.  What I _was_ thinking about was an invitation of my own.  Maybe a nice dinner at one of those restaurants all the fine gentlemen visit.”

      “You mean the kind you can’t afford?”

      “I can!  I’m not thinking of a royal banquet, just something better than the chophouse on the corner.  It’s what friends would do, right?  Meet for dinner and talk about the news of the day?  St. James Hall’s usually got something going on for music, so that’s a possibility, too.”

      “So, your non-plan is to court Mr. Holmes with fine food and music, then see how that beard of his feels against your face when you take a bit of liberty with affection?”

      “You have to admit, I’d had worse plans in the past.”

      “True.  Very true.  Really, horribly, embarrassingly true.  So… well done, you!”

      “Victory!  Though, I have a suspicion that bit of affection won’t be easy coming.”

      “No… I think you’re right.  I didn’t get the chance to talk to Mycroft very much today, but he doesn’t seem the type to wear his heart on his sleeve.  Government man, too, from what Sherlock says.  I’d say the friendly dinner piece will be easy.  The rest… you’re going to have to tread carefully.”

      “Unfortunately, yes.  But carefully doesn’t mean not to tread at all.  Besides, I’ve been in delicate situations before, had to face obstacles, and never let it beat me.  Not going to let it happen this time, either.”

      “You _will_ feel beard or the devil take you, is that it?”

      “And in magnificent places, too.”

      “Alright, then.  That’s certainly worth a fine dinner and a night of music.”

      “I’ll remember you said that when Sherlock gives you his violin recital.”

      “Not relevant, because Sherlock doesn’t have a beard and I’m not courting him, anyway.”

      “It’s only a matter of time.  Nice looking lad, smart, certainly not boring, hasn’t realized what a miserable person you are… I’ll take notes on the restaurant I pick and pass them on.  What to order, what to avoid, what to wear… put your courtship on smooth seas right from the onset.”

      “Funny man.  You go back to fantasizing about facial hair and I’m going to sit back, sip your whisky and read this nice book you’ve got waiting for me.”

      “Fair enough.  But, don’t try and pretend you’ve not got a bit of fantasy going on of your own about hair.  Maybe some nice, dark curls that are as wild as their owner?”

      “Preposterous.”

      “Try again.”

      “Maybe a little.”

      “Good lad.  Life’s short and opportunities wasted are just that.  Wasted.”

      “True, but you said you had some signs from Mycroft.  That’s… I’m not sure Sherlock even knows what signs are.  He may not even prefer… _friends_.”

      “I can’t deny that.  And it’s not as if I can ask his brother about it.  I suppose you’ll just have to watch carefully and see if that changes.”

      “Well, it’s not as if I won’t have the chance, because I think I’ll be seeing a lot of Mr. Holmes the Younger from this point forward.”

      “Which is a good thing.”

      “Yes… yes, it is.  So, whisky now?

      “Whisky and a book?”

      “Sounds good to me.  No!  No, no book.  I’ve got my lecture to prepare for tomorrow.”

      “Then, I’ll have whisky and book, you can have whisky, with pen and paper.”

      “That is a very successful compromise.”

      “Whisky is a good negotiator.”

      “That it is.”

And, tomorrow, would be more time to watch for signs from Sherlock Holmes.  Who said he knew Stamford.  Good chap, that Stamford.  Very pleasant to talk to.  Kept his eyes open and his ears to the ground.  And loved to gossip.  Positively adored it… and enjoyed a good nip of spirits with an old friend to share that gossip, which, just perhaps, might concern one Sherlock Holmes.  And _signs_ or lack thereof…


	8. Chapter 8

      “Oh good, it’s you, Doctor Watson.  Sherlock’s been a mess waiting for you and that doesn’t make anything run smoothly in this house.  Come in… come in.  Straight on up with you, then.  Sherlock’s in his lab, _now_ , so get him and I’ll tell Cook you’re ready for breakfast.”

John decided that if he ever struck it rich and could afford a house like this one, he’d interview every housekeeper in England until he found one exactly like Mrs. Hudson, if he couldn’t hire her away from the Holmes’s in the first place.

      “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.  And might I say, you are looking quite smart today.  Off for something fun once you’ve got the house settled?”

      “Ha!  I tried that, but Mr. Holmes said he’d chain my leg to the floor if I tried to run away.  It’s… well, you see…”

John followed the beckoning finger, leaning over to hear the housekeeper’s whisper.

      “Mrs. Holmes is going to be visiting.”

      “Mycroft has a wife?”

Oh, this was going to kill Greg.  Kill him deader than last night’s sausage.  Or… maybe not.  Choking from laughter wasn’t exactly the answer he was expecting to his question.

      “A wife!  Good heavens, no.  I… oh, that’s very amusing, doctor, very amusing indeed… hee hee hee… no no no… Mrs. Holmes, the one who brought his Holmesy self into the world.”

      “His mum!  Oh, well…”

Greg lives to see another day!

      “… yes, that can be a bit worrying, I suppose.  Is she…”

John stuck his nose in the air, shoved out his chest and glided slowly around the entrance way.

      “… or more…”

This time, it was the highly-disapproving face and walking as if he held a stick in his hand, more for bashing children than for mobility’s sake.

      “Oh, look at you being evil.  I adore it.  But, in truth, she’s more…”

Mrs. Hudson began, at rapid pace, straightening John’s coat, shaking her head at the sight of his shoes, flitting quickly over to the small table near the door and rearranged the tray for correspondence and calling cards, the candlestick and small vase, then stopping to check herself in the mirror, fiddling with her hair and smiling coquettishly despite her age.

      “I think I’ll be leaving now.”

      “No!  Oh no, you’re in this with the rest of us and if I can’t sneak away for a spot of gin, neither can you.”

John found himself pushed in the direction of the stairs with Mrs. Hudson standing staunchly between him and the door so escape was officially impossible because John had no illusions he could win a fight with someone certainly more wily and wiry than himself.  Actually he was a little surprised that Sherlock was still here, because he had a very difficult time imagining his new friend wanting to be home when his mother came to call.

__________

      “Stop laughing.”

At the man whose leg was actually chained to a heavy laboratory table?  No, laughing would not stop for quite some time.

      “What… what happened?”

      “Mycroft caught me trying to leave via the window and took steps to prevent it happening again.  The key is on the mantle out of my reach.”

      “Would this attempted escape have anything to do with your mother coming for a visit?”

      “There is NO reason I should have to stay and suffer her… insufferableness.”

      “Except she’s your mother and deserves your love and respect.”

      “Mummy would happily forego either, as long as my hair is combed.  If I purchased a grandchild to present her, I would be forever free from her clutches as she would gladly trade the creature for me and disavow any further knowledge of my existence.”

      “Why do I suspect that’s a bit of an exaggeration.”

      “Because, Doctor Watson, that was the bargain _I_ tried to affect with Mummy and Sherlock has no creativity of his own about which to boast.”

John grinned at the newly-arrived Mycroft and did a small mental dance because he knew someone who very much appreciated a clever sense of humor and Mr. Holmes did have a clever one when he decided to let it show.

      “Release me!”

      “As we have received the call for breakfast, I shall comply for I will surely not ask a tray be brought to you and start rumors that I have finally come to my senses and closeted you away from the citizenry to protect both their safety and sanity.  Doctor Watson, if you would be so kind as to free my brother from his penance?  Then do escort him to the dining room, seeing he actually arrives and does not make another break for freedom.  Oh, and do keep Sherlock away from Mrs. Hudson.  I am unsettlingly certain that, with a potential alliance, they might overcome my best efforts and find their way out of the house.”

Mycroft tossed John the key to the large padlock on Sherlock’s chain and left to start his morning meal, while John set about releasing the captive.

      “You got that, you prisoner.  No trying to escape or it’ll go hard for you.”

      “If you are trying to be funny, you are failing.  If you are not…”

      “Yes?”

      “I have no idea.  I thought I had an amusing rejoinder but I was incorrect.”

Which was enough to make John laugh on its own and the doctor gladly gave Sherlock his due for honesty.

      “Fair enough.  And, you’re free!  A good mouthful of breakfast and… what time is your mother arriving?  I suppose I’ll slip out quietly and go on to my lecture alone once she’s here.”

      “That, also, is incorrect.  You will suffer as I suffer until it is time for your lecture.  Mycroft has reluctantly permitted my egress at that point on the condition I return home for dinner so he does not have to share the table alone with Mummy.  I offered to construct a simulacrum with my appearance to sit in my chair, but he could not be moved on the issue.”

      “Good!  I’m looking forward to having a friendly face in the audience.  So, breakfast and then some work?”

      “Yes, we shall have several hours of productive time before the scientific mien of the house is utterly destroyed.”

Making an ‘after you’ gesture, John did as he was told, escorting Sherlock down the stairs for what he knew would be a marvelous meal and then some encouraging progress on their research.  Already it was a good day and a bit of motherly visiting wasn’t going to change that.  A bit inconvenient, from the work standpoint, but relations were just a fact of life and you simply got on with things whether they were there or not…

__________

      “Oh, are you the boy who brings the coal?”

John checked the status of his trousers and coat, then grinned sickly at the extremely well-dressed woman smiling at him, pointedly ignoring both Mycroft and Sherlock’s large smirks behind her back.

      “Um… no, Mrs. Holmes.  I’m John.  John Watson.  _Doctor_ John Watson, actually.  Madam.”

      “Are you any good?  My personal physical is positively dreadful.  Can you imagine?  He told me I could only have three glasses of sherry a night.  Is the man mad?  Well, you would know.  Sherry is a _staggeringly_ health-boosting beverage.  Before I leave, I shall expect a letter from you to that effect to show that old goat so he realizes I was right all along.” 

      “Mycroft’s physician is also dreadful.  You remember the poultice situation, Mummy.  Though he did recently say that Mycroft is on the verge of death from the vastness of his weight crushing his internal organs, so the man must have some small degree of competency in his field.”

      “Good heavens, Sherlock!  Your brother cuts a fine and stately figure, which someone should be lucky enough to enjoy if only Mycroft wasn’t a hermit from some discarded book of the Bible.”

Sherlock’s snicker earned him Mycroft’s foot stepping heavily on his own and John wished desperately that there was some way to capture all of this in one of those gypsy crystals to show Greg later because… well, this was the family the man wanted to grow closer to!

      “And you, Sherlock!  With smudges on your sleeves…not that there is any arm to support them.  Do you eat, at all?  You, Doctor…. Person.  Tell Sherlock how important it is to eat.”

      “I… well, yes…”

      “See!  Even the little doctor says you’re far too thin for your own good, you silly boy.  I’m going to see dinner tonight is rich as Midas and settles some flesh on your bones.  Here, hold my gloves while I go and find your cook.”

And, in only slightly more than five minutes in residence, everyone in the room had been insulted and the assault on the staff had begun.  Mycroft was fairly certain this was his mother’s best showing yet.

      “Well… your mother is a lively person, isn’t she?”

      “John has suffered brain damage!  I demand the right to take him anywhere but here so he might recover his lost wits.”

      “A burdened thirded, brother dear, is very much to my advantage, so… no.  As it stands, you shall be free from her clutches for the duration of Doctor Watson’s lecture, which is not something I can claim.  There shall be hats… consider yourself lucky.”

Sherlock’s snort didn’t fool John for a second because, at this moment, the thought of escorting the woman for a shopping excursion was positively terrifying.

      “In any case, brother, I will give you the grace of taking Mummy out of the house for lunch, precluding the need for you to be at table with us.  Do prepare for repayment at my convenience, but, for now, your day shall be an easy one.  While we wait for her to complete inciting Cook to tender her notice, let us have a relaxing moment in the library.  I suspect we can all do with one.”

      “Boring.”

      “Then do feel free to join Mummy in the kitchen, Sherlock, and suffer her stripping you naked to view better your skeletal frame and discussing with cook and her staff exactly what victuals would best produce the silhouette she believes appropriate for your age and station.”

Sherlock stormed off in the direction of the library, with John racing after him in a manner that made Mycroft smile.  Already there was a noticeable connection between the two and nothing could be more to his liking.  And John had weathered Mummy with exceptional success.  The little doctor was adding many credits to his ledger, that much was certain.  One could only hope Sherlock wasn’t chipping away at the balance…

__________

      “What do mean they are not lunching with us?”

Mycroft smiled at his mother and used his out-of-her-sight hand to urge Sherlock and John to start moving towards the library door.

      “Sherlock and Doctor Watson have a previous engagement that cannot be ignored, Mummy.  Doctor Watson, in fact, is delivering a professional lecture at St. Bart’s and you know well Sherlock’s interest in anatomy.”

      “A lecture?  Good lord, I thought he was a real doctor, not one of those that stands there in an apron, poking at corpses while the morbidly-minded bloodletters look on from the gallery.”

      “I am, Mrs. Holmes.  A real doctor, that is.  I’m speaking on medical practices of some of the native cultures of Africa.”

      “Whatever for?  Are they planning an invasion of London?”

      “No… not that I know of.  But, there are some interesting medicines and techniques that I learned that… well, I hope that others will have an interest in.”

      “Bone rattling and dancing with feathers in their hair?”

Sherlock pointed triumphantly at his mother and had his hand smacked by John for his troubles.

      “There’s a lot of complexity and tradition behind their practices, Mrs. Holmes, and the native healers do a great amount of good in their communities.”

      “Well, when you treat Mycroft’s gout, I expect a proper medical examination and not blowing powders in his face while making him hold leaves in his mouth.”

      “I do not have gout!”

      “Mycroft has gout in every tissue of his body!  John!  Gather the leaves while I grind the powder!”

      “Mummy, did you know that Sherlock expressed only yesterday an interest in spending a month soon with you.  Perhaps you can use that time to see his flesh filled to a more appropriate level than now it is.”

      “I said no such thing!”

      “Really?  Oh, Sherlock… what a delightful idea!  The days are become quite mild and we might enjoy time in the gardens, as well.  A bit of sunshine will be good for you.  Just not too much or you will brown like your little friend and people will believe you a farm laborer.”

As greatly as John was enjoying the Holmes family bickering, and he _was_ greatly enjoying it, the doctor chose to act before Sherlock’s seething set the sofa on fire, tapping his companion on the shoulder before quickly rising to his feet and smiling at the room’s undisputed matriarch.

      “I’m certain that will be a grand time… for everyone.  If you’ll excuse us now, Mrs. Holmes, we need to take our leave or be late, which is certainly not polite.  Do have a lovely day and… find a beautiful hat.”

John made a small bow and tugged Sherlock out of the library, paying no heed to Mycroft’s loud reminder that Sherlock was to join them for dinner.  When the front door closed as loudly _as_ Mycroft’s reminder, the older Holmes sighed wistfully and imagined for a moment he was fleeing with the rest of the males in their party.

      “Mycroft?”

      “Mummy?”

      “Sherlock has a friend.”

      “Yes, of that I am most aware.”

      “Who is not a convict.”

      “Not to my knowledge.”

      “Which means you owe me ten shillings.”

      “Our wager was for five.”

      “Interest has accumulated.”

      “Very well.  Do you prefer cash or a goods equivalent?”

      “Hmmm… I shall have to think.  Where are we lunching today?”

      “You enjoy Verey’s.”

      “That I do.  Very well, let us make our own start and I will contemplate my winnings over my meal. Then, of course, I have more important business to which to attend.”

      “The milliner.”

      “Just because I do not hold with wearing feathers in one’s hair, does not mean I do not hold with wearing them in one’s hat.”

      “Truly, it is an entirely different thing.”

      “Such a good boy you are, Mycroft.”

__________

      “Are we clear?”

      “Yes.  Mummy is actually fleet of foot, however, there is now sufficient distance between us and the house that she could not catch us even at her fastest pace.”

      “Good.  I feel rather bad leaving your brother there all alone and defenseless, though.”

      “I don’t.  As the eldest, he stands at the head of the inheritance line, so I must gain some benefit from my place in the birth order.”

      “Well, when you put it that way, I see your point.  You know… I was a little nervous about my talk, but after spending an hour with your mother, I can’t say that I fear anything the bloodletters have in store for me.”

      “Yes, Mummy is quite skilled at making any other human appear positively banal by comparison.”

      “Then I’ll say I’m happy to have met her and god help me if she actually does decide that my medical opinion is something she wants.”

      “She will.  For the most ridiculous things and will expect that you proffer nothing resembling a bill, for you met her first in a non-professional capacity.  I shall show you her seal so you recognizer her correspondence immediately.”

      “Perfect.  I was going to ask Stamford to come out for a bit of coffee or something after my lecture, but, now, I think it’s going to be a little or a lot of ale.”

      “And me?”

      “I already assumed you’d be coming.”

      “Acceptable.”

Sherlock’s small, pleased smile drew out one from John, leaving the doctor to wonder how he’d so quickly secured in his life someone he actually... liked.  Not tolerated or endured or enjoyed for a moment, but _liked_.  That wasn’t something that happened terribly often…

      “Though you _are_ going to be home for dinner because I am not going to face your mother’s and Mycroft’s wrath if you’re stinking with drink while they wait for you before having their soup.”

      “Unacceptable.”

      “Sorry, but your mother knows my name and can most likely use it to find me to give me a piece of her mind.”

      “She would, too.  Mummy is notorious for spraying splinters of her mind across vast expanses of the nation’s commercial, agricultural and service interests.”

      “Then, self-preservation wins out and you _are_ having dinner with your family.”

      “You are no friend to me, John Watson.”

      “I think I’ll survive.”

      “Not if I slip cyanide into your ale.”

      “There’s no arguing that.”

      “No, there really isn’t.”

__________

If he tried very hard, there must be some way to commit an executable crime so that this agony would come to a blessed end…

      “This one… what do you think of it, Mycroft?”

      “It is lovely.”

      “That is what you have said about the last five I have donned.”

      “They were all lovely, so what would you have me say?”

      “I suspect I could put a hen on my head and you would say that was lovely, too.”

      “If it was a comely hen, then likely so.”

      “Oh, Mycroft… I suppose you are very fortunate there is not a woman in your life, else you would surely be murdered by this point.”

      “One of the many reasons I am content with bachelorhood.”

      “However…”

Mycroft watched his mother contort her face into a pantomime of wink-wink-nudge-nudge that he found both frightening and appalling.

      “Whatever are you doing?”

      “You know.”

      “I assure you I do not.”

      “This is not really the place to speak plainly on the issue, my son.”

      “There is really no place to speak plainly about nonsense at all, Mummy.”

      “Very well… are you, perhaps… acquainted with anyone… _interesting_ at the moment?”

The fact that this mother made a grand show of checking that there was no one in earshot of them at the moment clued Mycroft into the root of her snooping.

      “I was mistaken.  This is precisely the wrong place to speak of such things, so we will table this conversation until… forever.”

      “Answer the question.  It’s a simple enough one, with absolutely no… connotations.”

      “The connotations are adorning it as are the ribbons on this hat!”

      “Keep your voice down and simply satisfy your mother that you are not eternally hibernating in your home like a dormouse.”

      “Very well… no.  No, I am not acquainted with…”

But, as the words started to flow, Mycroft realized they were not precisely true.  They were true in the manner his mother meant the question, but in the literal sense, they were slightly off the mark.

      “What?  I know that look, Mycroft Holmes, and you are looking for a way to hide something from me.  You know that never works, so you might as well make your confession and get it over with.”

      “I have nothing to confess beyond… I recently have made the acquaintance of a gentleman whose company I enjoy.”

      “Enjoy?”

      “I appreciate his conversation.”

      “That’s not euphemistic, is it?”

      “No.”

      “Well, it’s something, at least.  I should have had a wager with Sherlock over when _you_ would find a friend.  I could have made back my train fare.”

      “Most amusing, I am sure.”

      “I believe so.  Now, tell me about him.”

      “I think not.”

      “I think so and I birthed you, so I win.”

      “The details of Gregory’s life or person are of no concern to you.”

      “So, his name is Gregory.  Well, at least half of it is.  Do make a present of the second half, if you would be so kind.”

      “Mummy… truly, Gregory is simply…”

      “Simply the first person about whom I have heard you speak in anything other than a dreary capacity in what must be… your life.”

      “Untrue.”

      “Most true.  Besides, however can I issue an invitation for him to dine with us tonight if I do not know his surname?”

Was it possible to kill oneself with a hatpin?  It was certainly worth a try.

      “Gregory is a busy man, Mummy, and cannot accept invitations on such short notice.”

      “So, he is either a social busybody or mired in drudgery similar to what you do in a day.  Neither is convincing me of his suitability for you.”

      “Well done insulting both Gregory and me in a single salvo.”

      “It is an innate talent.  Now, Gregory who?”

      “Oh for heaven’s sake… Gregory Lestrade.”

Well, that was one hat he would have to pay for because, in no manner, was the shopkeeper going to allow a hat that has fallen onto the floor be sold to anyone but the one who dropped it.  Or his mother.

      “No.”

      “Pardon?”

      “The explorer?”

      “What!  You cannot possibly know who is Gregory, Mummy.”

      “Do not tell me what I can and cannot possibly know, Mycroft Holmes.  For your information, Lady Abernathy attended one of his lectures while here in London and spoke very highly of him.  And I believe there was mention of him in the newspapers recently, was there not?”

Along with a drawing that certainly did not capture the full handsomeness of Gregory’s appearance, not that he had cause to script a message to the publisher about the shoddy quality of their staff artists.  That would have been ludicrous.  Though highly merited.

      “You are not supposed to read the newspapers.  You know how they agitate you and, further, a woman in your position certainly needs no awareness of the ugly practicalities of the world.”

      “Shall we again discuss my birthing of you, Mycroft?  Or, worse… your conception?  Your father was a dear man and I did love him, but if you had any idea of what he appreciated for…”

      “Enough!  That is… that is more than quite enough.”

      “Be that as it may, I am having a difficult time believing you have made the acquaintance of an explorer.  Aren’t they supposed to be… exciting?”

      “I would use the term collegial.  Affable would also be appropriate.”

      “Oh, you’re lying and doing a horrid job of it.  Well, I certainly have no idea how you drew his attention, but I suppose I will find out when he comes to dinner.”

      “NO!  Mummy… it is entirely presumptuous to believe, at this hour, that Gregory would have the evening free of commitments.”

      “Somehow you have stumbled upon a credible point.  Very well, I shall stay another day and issue the invitation for tomorrow.  Now, do pick up that hat and set it aside in the ‘possible’ stack.”

Since panic was not seemly, it was definitely not what Mycroft was doing, though it bore a striking resemblance.

      “I… I do believe Gregory spoke of a previous dinner invitation for tomorrow night.  And the night afterwards.  His time is in high demand, as you can expect, due to his unique position and social status.  Perhaps when you next visit we might plan an evening so that you can meet him.”

      “Hmmmm… that is not entirely satisfactory for you could easily have bungled things by that point and rendered this moot.”

      “Your confidence in me is, as always, wildly encouraging.”

      “Mycroft, I spent countless hours in your youth attempting to see you with some form of social life beyond the barest and most perfunctory and failed utterly.  Pardon me if I harbor suspicions that this shall see the same degree of spectacular disappointment.”

      “I am no longer a child.”

      “No, but I have seen no evidence on this particular subject to prove you have moved beyond that point, therefore… oh, Mycroft, please do not pout.”

      “I am not pouting.  I am simply ruminating on your words and affecting a serious visage.”

Mycroft’s mother mentally bit her tongue and reached out to give her son’s hand a squeeze.  Her poor, dear Mycroft… always smarter and more mature than his peers, which was not a winning combination to find friends.  It served him well in life because her son could boast the greatest professional success of all the lot, albeit some of it behind the heavy curtains of government, but in his personal life… yes, this was a cruel tangent of conversation and, further, could easily lead her son to abandon the first real friend he seemed to have taken to his bosom.  That was certainly not what a mother did, even with a son as dizzyingly unique as hers.

      “I _am_ sorry, Mycroft.  I did not mean to be so harsh.  And, yes, I will certainly expect dinner with Mr. Lestrade at some point in the future.  Oh, and that little man that has attached to Sherlock.”

Mycroft’s pout began to lift because the instances of a contrite mater were exceedingly few and far between.

      “His name is John, Mummy, and you may wish to know that Sherlock met him through Gregory.  Doctor Watson is the physician for Gregory’s expedition party.”

      “Really?  I suppose that explains why he is as tan as an overbaked shortbread.  Well, he shall be invited to whatever we plan for me to meet your new acquaintance.  One I am very happy you have found and that is the full and honest truth.  Now, back to important things.  Have I tried that lovely eggshell-hued hat with the ostrich plumes?  Ostriches are from Africa, if I remember correctly.  Or are they?  I will ask that Mr. Lestrade about the hats worn by women of the region.  That will show interest, and men of his sort do adore the showing of interest, do they not?  Of course they do, don’t bother to answer.  Why haven’t you handed me the eggshell hat yet?  We don’t have all day here, you know?”

With a put-upon sigh, Mycroft lifted the newest victim from its stand, but the sigh held little real frustration.  Mummy was happy, being surprisingly genial and had actually demonstrated genuine concern over him, something which he knew she felt, though it rarely made such an overt appearance.  Perhaps the thought of her sons expanding their horizons had her in a particularly good mood.  Of course, that still did not mean he wanted Gregory within greetings range until he had properly prepared him for the whirlwind that was his mother. Though, if Gregory could manage lions and wayward ostriches on a daily basis, a mother should be a simple thing by comparison.  Well, some mothers.  Those that were not his…

__________

      “Well, that was not entirely abysmal.”

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  I appreciate your support.”

      “John!  And Sherlock!  Do you two know each other?”

John smiled at Stamford who moved towards them, hand extended to shake and sporting a large smile on his roundish face.

      “We do, actually.  Just met recently, but Sherlock’s been helping me with the work I’ve been doing with some of the native medicines.”

      “And poisons.”

      “Yes, Sherlock, and poisons.”

      “Well, what do you know about that? John trained here, Sherlock.  A bit before your time, of course, but… we’re always happy to have him back whenever we can.  Imagine going off on all that adventure into the unknown.  I always knew John had a streak in him that would make the doddery old doctor road the one not taken and he’s proved me right.”

      “Mummy thought he was the coal carrier.”

      “Oh no.  She’s not here, is she?”

John laughed as Stamford looked around for any sight of the imperious woman skulking through the halls.

      “You know Mrs. Holmes, Mike?”

      “Sherlock’s brother is a hospital patron and there has been the maternal appearance or two at a social event in benefit of this creaky old girl.  Lovely woman, positively lovely.”

The fact that all three men pulled a face at the skirting around the _whole_ picture would go completely unmentioned.

      “Yeah, well, I did my duty and made a good show for us medical types.  Stayed far away from all potential topics of contention, such as anything in my life besides working on the sick, specifically the sick here in this country.”

      “John hit me when I attempted to discuss our work in its proper context.”

      “It was a pinch and not a hit.  I just didn’t want your mum to know I spend a good bit of my life in places other than England.  I’m sure she would have had _quite_ a mouthful to say about that.”

      “Several mouthfuls, actually.”

      “My point exactly.”

Stamford watched the easy back and forth between the two men and felt his smile grow wide again.  He had despaired of anyone warming to Sherlock, but John had done so nicely, apparently and… well, what to say about John himself?  Fine man but never one to keep a quantity of close friends about him.  It appeared that might be changing a little… just how much, he would dearly love to find out.

      “Do you two have time for a chat?  The coffee-house two streets over does a bracing brew and I, for one, could use it.  Some interesting cases this morning that, frankly, have worn me down a bit.”

That, as expected, perked both Sherlock’s and John’s ears and Stamford found their group already moving towards the door without any official signal being given.  Oh, this was a profoundly interesting thing and he would certainly get John alone at some point to ferret out the deepest of details.  Sherlock was never mineable for personal gossip, but John… after a few good mugs of ale he’d learn everything he wanted about this burgeoning friendship.  If that was what was happening, of course.  Not that he’d be the one to provide the information about either man’s… _tendencies_ … but if the subject happened to come up and confidentiality was absolutely assured… well, who knew what sorts of things might slip from the tongue when one was supposedly blissful with beer…

__________

Mycroft and Sherlock happily watched their mother alight the hansom for the trip to the train, their escorting responsibilities having been lifted from their shoulders with a sharp flick of Mummy’s wrist, and mentally rubbed their hands in glee.  The visit was short, mostly harmless and despite the rather alarming quantity of correspondence she had tossed into the morning post, free from any social entanglements to strip them further of their domestic contentment.

      “We have survived, brother dear.”

      “By the leanest of margins.”

      “True, but we exit the experience alive and will all limbs intact, so I, for one, shall declare victory.”

      “I suppose it is not unwarranted.  Regardless, I am now leaving, as I have told John that I will meet him at St. Bart’s so he might examine my additional laboratory space.  That is, of course, if he is not suffering the effects of overindulgence of alcohol.  When I left his and Stamford’s company yesterday, they had plans to continue their reunion and those plans did not involve coffee.”

      “Perhaps next time you might join them.  We shall not have to suffer Mummy’s presence for quite some time, thereby offering many opportunities for evenings of camaraderie.”

      “Speaking of such, when is your next assignation with Lestrade?”

Not as soon as he would like, but far too soon for his rather unsteady nerves.

      “I was considering issuing an invitation to visit within the coming week, actually, if my schedule permits it.”

      “Mummy will be pleased to learn of this.  I thought she would never stop asking questions about Lestrade at dinner last night.”

Yes, Mummy would be very pleased as it now seemed her mission to see his friendship with Gregory thrive, even if she had to step in personally and arrange meetings for them as one would a courting couple.  Thankfully, _that_ particular notion was not in her head because Mummy’s grown-into acceptance of his preferences could easily impair her already tenuous verbal filter and sink any potential friendship growing between him and Gregory before it left the proverbial harbor.  Gregory would be discreet about it, he had faith, but… the loss of companionship would sting horribly.

      “He is a person of some note which has, I believe, piqued her curiosity.  And she also will be pleased when you write and regale her with the details of yours and John’s continuing adventures in the city.  Which you _will_ do and regularly.”

      “Pfft.”

      “Melodious, as always.  Begone, foul spirit, and do not darken my door again.”

      “You cannot exorcise me!  You are not a priest!  Though, your celibacy does place you as a potential candidate.”

      “I do not believe the uniform suits me, but the placidity of the lifestyle does offer appeal.  I assume you have a full day planned, but shall I see you before dinner, dear brother?”

      “Hopefully not.”

      “Excellent, then my day is truly a merry one.”

Mycroft turned back inside the house and peeked through the window to watch Sherlock storm off, hailing a cab with the money he had picked from Mycroft’s pocket.  Which Mycroft allowed, because baby brothers did deserve some latitude now and again.  Besides, it was quiet cheaply bought and that was not a thing to disparage.

__________

      “Mr. Holmes?”

A full two hours of peace… the joy might near be lethal.

      “Yes, Mrs. Hudson?”

      “You have a visitor.  And, no, don’t start looking for your appointment ledger because this one doesn’t pay heed to silly things like that.”

GREGORY!  Oh no… first Mummy and now Gregory… what had he done to deserve this!

      “I do not suppose you would…”

      “I’m not telling him you’re out, ill or indisposed, so put on a smile and look happy to see him.”

Evil woman.  He _was_ happy to see Gregory, for a certain measure of happiness.  The measure that wasn’t accompanied by surprise visits on the heels of the feminine typhoon that was his mother.

      “Mycroft!”

Oh no… and Gregory had opted for a striking suit in warmer tones with a scintillating green waistcoat that accentuated his sun-kissed coloring exquisitely.  Unfair.  The man was an utter bounder.

      “Gregory, yes… how are you?  I was not expecting you today.”

      “No, I suppose you weren’t and I apologize for that.  I had some calls to pay in this area, but I wouldn’t have stopped in like this, without asking, I mean, but… well, this came in the post and I thought you might want to have a word about it as soon as possible.”

Mycroft frowned in confusion until Lestrade took the envelope out of his pocket when his frown became a rictus of terror.

      “That… that is my mother’s seal.”

      “Yes, I got that from this first bit that says ‘Dear Mr. Lestrade, it has come to my attention that you have become acquainted with my son, Mycroft Holmes.’  You might want to read the rest yourself.”

Mycroft ignored his unexpected guest’s knowing grin and nearly leapt across his desk to snatch the letter from Lestrade’s hand.

_Dear Mr. Lestrade,_

_It has come to my attention that you have become acquainted with my son, Mycroft Holmes.  I am absolutely delighted with the news, given you are a man of interest and character, and would be most pleased if you would attend a small gathering in my home two weeks from today where you, of course, will be the guest of honor.  I am including your colleague, Doctor Watson, in this invitation, as he has become a dear friend of my Sherlock and I would enjoy the opportunity to come to better know him.  I anxiously await your reply and look very forward to meeting you._

_With deepest regards,_

_Millicent Holmes_

      “Mycroft?  Are you alright?  Here, maybe you should have a seat.”

Lestrade hesitated only a moment before taking Mycroft’s trembling arm and guiding him to the sofa.

      “What?  Oh, do pardon me, Gregory.  That was deplorably ill-mannered on my part.”

      “Bit of a surprise, I must say.  But, I suppose that means you’ve been talking to your mum about me and I must say that’s good for a man’s ego.”

Don’t smile your blinding smile at me, Gregory Lestrade, or I will favor you with the most ferocious of my glares.

      “Mummy has invited you to the manor?”

      “Provided I’m reading that correctly.  John, too!  Of course, when I nudged his sluggardly form to ask him about it, he just pulled his blankets over his head and made sobbing noises.  I’m not sure what that was all about, but maybe he’s feeling poorly.  He was still out when I finally found my pillow last night, so I’ll check on him as soon as I’m able and see he’s alright.”

      “John… oh dear… John met Mummy yesterday as she was in the city for a brief visit.”

      “Oh!  Well, that explains it!  No, actually it doesn’t, so why don’t you tell me the story.  I know!  We could take a nice stroll because the weather’s beautiful, to everyone’s great surprise, and what could be better than a lovely walk and some fresh air in the lungs?”

Everything.  Everything could be better.  Cholera could be better.  Or decapitation.

      “I’m afraid I am most busy, Gregory, so I must decline.”

      “But, if you take a little walk you can tell Sherlock you exercised and that might keep that mouth of his shut on the subject for awhile and protect your sweets supply that he’s always going on about.”

That was actually an argument of merit.  Damn Gregory and his formidable mind!

      “Very well.  I suppose I should arm you fully with information before you accept or decline Mummy’s invitation and it is no greater hardship to do it out of doors than in.”

      “Oh, I’m accepting, there’s no question about that.”

If the gates of Hades opened under his feet, into the pits he would leap.  Gladly.

      “Ah.  Well, then… the arming shall be for your edification on the subject of Mummy and… no, there is no and.  One moment, if you will, for me to make ready.”

Mycroft excused himself and Lestrade giggled gleefully as soon as the elder Holmes was out of the study.  Really, this was fantastic!  A gift from the gods!  An invitation from Mycroft’s mother… what had he done right in his misspent life to warrant that?  Something _amazing_ , apparently.  And he was going to make good use of every second of it.  Just as he was going to make good use of every second of his delightful constitutional with Mr. Mycroft Holmes, the most breathtaking man alive.  He hadn’t woken this morning and thought that this was going to be a spectacular day, but he was more than happy to find he was wrong.  It was _spectacularly_ spectacular… sunshine, even weak British sunshine, on Mycroft’s skin… yes, spectacular was certainly the right word…


	9. Chapter 9

Oh, he had been so right… Mycroft was gorgeous in the springtime sunshine.  There wasn’t another man out for a walk that looked as powerful, handsome or elegant as the man at his side.  Fine clothes, all perfectly tailored and formidably dark in tone with just a splash of color showing in a blue scarf that brought out perfectly the color of Mycroft’s eyes.  And didn’t the wisps of hair peeking out from under his hat show the slightest hint of deep mahogany when struck by a particularly bright ray of light?  Apparently Mycroft’s lovely brown locks hid a treasure that an afternoon stroll or, in the world of fantasy, laying on a blanket out in a field on a warm summer’s day happily exposed.

      “Gregory?”

Alright, staring at the man you find alarmingly attractive isn’t the best thing to do, especially when one, he’s a man and two, you’re on a fairly busy street and in danger of running into a gentlewoman with your lust-blinded shambling.

      “Oh, yes.  Sorry, something in that shop window caught my eye.”

Which, by a quick application of geometry to Lestrade’s previous line of sight was proven to be a lie, something that perplexed Mycroft rather profoundly.  Commenting upon it, however, would be inexcusably impolite.

      “Ah, yes.  It is a good area for a spot of shopping.”

Not that Mycroft had engaged in such since the reign of Alfred the Great, besides placating the bothersome subject of his and Lestrade’s current conversation, but that was entirely beside the point.

      “This where you took your mum for her hat?”

      “Some ways along actually, however, we traveled by hansom, so as not to monopolize the entire walking area with the enormity of her hatbox.”

Lestrade laughed loudly and Mycroft took note of the disapproving looks by some of the more disapproving- _looking_ individuals and found, for once in his life, he didn’t care a whit.

      “Maybe that’s what should go to war the next time we’ve got a scuffle going.  A line of women with their hatboxes all glaring at the enemy and making ready for a good ear tug and a scolding if they get cheeky.”

If Mummy had a thousand sisters, that would actually be a viable strategy.  What she had done to the Italian prince who had commented unfavorably on her broach was still whispered about in the halls of government.  In more than several countries.

      “I shall prepare a letter on that and circulate it to the proper persons should such a thing be required.  Given an invasion of the Huns, we should have a plan to implement with the utmost of speed.”

Lestrade laughed again and Mycroft wondered how in creation he had grown a sense of humor appreciable by anyone.  To hear Sherlock speak of it, when he opened his mouth, all that came out was crypt dust and a few bat skeletons.

      “You’ll be the top man when the battle comes to pass, what with all your experience.  Really, though, Mycroft… your mother sounds like a woman of spirit and that’s good, all things considered.”

      “You say that now, Gregory, but your tune shall take a turn for the dirge when you are ensnared in her talons.”

      “Balderdash.  I have an idea.  How about I take her with me on expedition when we make a go of it again and put her no-nonsense attitude to work.”

Oh, what a joy that would be.  Dear Gregory would have no difficulty securing financing were that the case, for the number of benefactors to his cause would be legion.  Sherlock might even hand over a guinea or two in his excitement.

      “As greatly as I might wish for such a thing, the potential diplomatic turbulence makes it an idea unable to see birth.  Mummy would surely have your native population in an uprising within a fortnight and I am certain you would have difficulty conducting your expedition with armed fighters dogging your heels.”

      “That _could_ be a problem, yes.  Hard to stop and admire an amazing bit of beauty when there’s something sharp sticking out of your bottom.” 

It would be absolutely unconscionable for anyone to mar the perfection of Gregory’s bottom.  Not that he had spared further thought to the explorer’s muscular bottom, of course, it was simply a general statement of opinion.

      “I daresay it would.  But, Gregory… I do feel it would be in your best interest to decline Mummy’s invitation.  What she describes as a ‘small gathering’ will be nothing of the sort.  If the entirely of her social group is not present, I shall be greatly surprised.”

      “What’s wrong with that?”

Oh yes, mustn’t forget this was a man who had little difficulty soaking up the rays of public attention as eagerly as he did the rays of the sun.  Which were illuminating the wayward strands of his vibrant hair in a most incorrigible manner.  Even Gregory’s tresses were cheeky.

      “You are a busy man, are you not?  To take time to indulge Mummy’s whims will surely have a negative impact upon your schedule.”

      “Not at all!  I’m sure your mother will want to talk about my work and it’s always a good thing to get out the word about what I do.  Besides, it’s your mum!  Can’t turn down an invitation from someone’s mum.  It’s the law.”

      “There is no rule of etiquette concerning the sanctity of motherly invitations.”

      “No, I think there is.  We can look for it if we find a bookseller.”

Mycroft’s rumbly harrumph was the cutest sound Lestrade had ever heard, especially when combined with his companion’s purposely pursed lips.

      “You will rue your amusement, Gregory Lestrade.”

      “Maybe.  If I do, I promise to drop to my knees and beg.  For your forgiveness, I mean.”

This rumbly noise was cuter than the first and Lestrade did a mental jig for, once again, giving Mycroft a morsel of internal discombobulation.

      “You… you shall find my forgiveness exceptionally difficult to obtain in that circumstance.”

      “So, you want to make me work for it.  I can see that for a man like you.”

Mycroft hoped with all possible force that he was not flushing from what his brain was imagining about this conversation.  How could the foolish trajectory of Gregory’s humor find such troubling ways to agitate his libido?  It was fantastically diabolical of it and utterly unfair, to boot.

      “Yes, well… in any case… crawl not back to me when you return and ask that I summon a physician to tend the bumps on your head and straighten the spine in your back.”

      “The way you’re talking I’d think you wouldn’t be there.”

      “Given the choice, I would not.  I have little interest in an evening of nattering about fashion, blithering about gossip and trumpeting about likely amoral successes in the economic sector.”

      “It’s alright to be honest, Mycroft.  Don’t feel you have to hold back your feelings on my account.”

And do not feel you have to grace me with your impish grin, Gregory, for I… why does it have to be _so_ lovely?  Truly, to which devil do you pray to have the power to vex me so?

      “How you can endure such inanity is completely beyond my ken.”

      “It’s not horrible, you know.  Everyone has something interesting about them if you take the time to find it.  I admit that, for some people, you have to take a _lot_ of time to find the interesting bit, but it _is_ there.  It’s like a hunt!  Find that little thing that you use to ignore the nattering, blithering and trumpeting and have a pleasant evening because of it.”

      “You cannot possibly be this optimistic and… people-oriented.”

No, he couldn’t, but Mycroft was such a joy to tease.

      “I said it wasn’t easy, didn’t I?  Even a fine fellow like me gets a bit impatient now and again or feels a touch of wishing I was anywhere but where I am at the moment, but if I can survive being chased by wild animals, I can manage a night of chatting and smiling.  I wager you can, also.  You’re just being silly.”

      “I… I am certainly not silly!”

      “Then you’re doing a marvelous performance of a silly man that could easily be on any stage in London.”

      “Humbug.”

      “Your humbug is humbug.”

      “Well… I never.”

      “You should.  It’s lots of fun, actually.”

The devil’s grin!  Again it is manifest, the villainous despoiler.

      “Are you quite this impertinent to all with whom you converse, Mr. Lestrade?”

      “Only the special ones.”

No, do not ask.  Do _not_ ask.  It is obviously a trap and you are spectacularly talented and practiced at avoiding verbal traps.

      “And how, precisely, do you define special?”

It was the grin!  He was bedazzled by the grin and fell directly into the trap.  This was intolerable!

      “Oh… lots of ways, because different people are special for different reasons.  John’s special because he’s a rotten individual whose rottenness is right along the lines of my own.  Sherlock’s special because he’s a unique, clever lad whose barking is much, much worse than his biting.  And, well… I don’t have to tell you why you’re on the list, so you see what I mean.”

Flagrantly inequitable!  If Sherlock could have his attributes elucidated, he deserved no less!

      “No… could you, perhaps, give flesh to your thought so I might be fully informed on your argument?”

And no grinning.  You are hereby prohibited from sporting a grin, foul fiend.

      “You don’t need to be modest, Mycroft.  You’ve got a perfect idea of what I’m on about, so throw back those shoulders and stroll along with pride.”

No, I don’t, you villainous rapscallion!  My mind, which is inarguably the strongest in the nation, is completely failing to grasp your insinuations.  Speak plainly and use small words!

      “You flatter me with assumed mystical abilities, Gregory, for I cannot read your mind on the subject.”

Dear heavens… must I lecture you again on grinning?  Are _any_ of my unspoken words having an effect on you?

      “Alright, you’re a man with an impressive exterior and an even more impressive interior.”

Wha… what?  That was certainly not plain.  It was the epitome of befuddlement!  Highly complimentary befuddlement, but fuddling was the truly relevant aspect and would not be ignored!

      “Oh dear… I have no idea what to make of that.”

      “Want me to explain?”

YES!

      “If you would be so kind.”

      “It’s like this… when a person sees you, they see an imposing, dominant, powerful, controlled, striking man with a fiercely intelligent gleam in his eye.  But, when they get to know you, they learn you’re also funny, clever, interesting and, as we have previously established, occasionally silly individual, though if _whimsical_ suits your sensibilities better we can use that instead.  Who wouldn’t, given all of that, say you belonged anywhere but on my special list?  Mycroft?  _Mycroft_?”

Oh, apparently, Mycroft had stopped a bit ago and decided to stand and stare at… air.  Better walk back and check on him.

      “Mycroft?  See something in that shop you’d like to look at more closely?”

How weepingly kind of Gregory to offer such an agreeable social excuse for this… situation.  Did… did Gregory really see him in such ways?  Striking?  Not that the term was the most exalted of the list, needless to say… perish the thought… but… striking?  Was it even done for one man to describe another as striking?  He had never known of such, but it was not unheard of among the female population, though it was generally used for a third, out-of-earshot party.  Perhaps during affable, casual conversation men _had_ adopted the convention, however, he was not one to socialize to a degree where he would have learned such a thing.  Also… he had never known anyone who might find the description applicable to him.  Striking?

      “Mycroft?  I’m actually beginning to think Sherlock’s worries about your health are well-founded.”

      “What?  Oh… yes.  That is to say… no.  I am, as you surmised, simply ruminating upon the… oh… dolls in this window.  Quite a demonstration of craftsmanship and… attention to detail.”

Will you ever cease your infernal grinning?  Have we not enough illumination from the sun without you adding your impertinent rays to the environs?

      “They’re lovely.  I’m certain any little girl would be thrilled to have her father give one to her.  If it was my little girl, I’d see she had a pretty doll to play with if she wanted one.  Or a jumping rope or marbles or a spinning top.  And books!  Lots of books… I don’t really care if they were proper for a girl or not, as long as she enjoyed what she had.”

      “I see.  You… you hope to have a daughter someday.”

Oh, Mr. Holmes… if you could only see how disappointed you are at that thought.  Let us see if I can bring some light back into your beautiful eyes.

      “No, not really.  I mean, I’d love to have them, but children don’t fit with my life very well.  I know some fathers aren’t home often and, when they are, they’re so busy it’s like they’re still away, but… that’s not fair to the family.  At least, not in my opinion.”

No, Mycroft would not admit his heart gladdened a bit at the confession, however… it did, unseemly a thing as it was.  A healthy, normal man would naturally want children, but his companion had the appropriate attitude on the subject.  A child could scarcely know their sire if he was gallivanting across the globe on one expedition after another.  It was both honorable and compassionate of Gregory to recognize that fact and spare his potential offspring the pain of being raised without their father’s love and guidance.

      “Very wise, Gregory.  Then, we shall leave these dolls for the attentions of others who can make better use of them.”

A satisfied smile… that is a much nicer appearance for you, Mycroft, than a wistful frown.   Do you have any idea of the strength of the signals you’re sending?  No, it’s not possible or you’d be snatching them back and hiding them away for fear of someone actually intercepting them.  Well, you’re a lucky man that intercepting signals is a particular strength of renowned explorers…

      “I concur.  Now, shall we… oh, I have an idea.  I know a few people at the British Museum and it’s a good time of day for a walk-around.  Would you care to join me for an hour or so of touring the exhibits?  It’s a bit of a walk, but…”

But, the look on Mycroft’s face said ‘a bit’ was beyond his already-stressed limit.

      “… we can hail a hansom for quicker travel.”

Yes,  that was more to Mr. Holmes’s liking.  And why not?  A man like him didn’t have time to waste waking about when he could ride.  A nice, leisurely stroll was a joy in and of itself, but for important and busy men to get from one place to another was the reason they had cabs.  

      “I believe I might spare the time.  And it will be a nice palate cleanser after the news of the morning.”

      “Your mum’s not a bad piece of fish, Mycroft.”

      “I will remind you of that statement once you have met her.  Provided, of course, my best efforts are not sufficient to change your mind on this course of action.”

Lestrade smiled and shook his head.  Mycroft wasn’t going to leave this without a fight and that was perfectly fine with him.  That simply gave him more time in Mycroft’s company and what could he possibly find to complain about with that?

__________

This was certainly the way to spend an afternoon.  And it _was_ afternoon, which had many delightful implications, in Lestrade’s opinion.  The important and busy Mr. Holmes gladly set aside this large quantity of time to examine, discuss and debate all the wonderful things in this venerable museum… and seemed very content to do so.

      “It’s amazing, isn’t it, Mycroft?  What artifacts say about lives lived long before ours?”

      “It is, at that.  Simpler times, in some ways, but with their own challenges and excitements.  The historical path to our own society is a tortuous one, but there is much to be learned from it.”

      “And you do know your bibs and bobs of history, don’t you?  I’ve met my fair share of those archaeologist types and you put most of them to shame with what you know about the past.”

Preening was unsightly and abhorrent for any man, let alone a Holmes, so that certainly was not what Mycroft was doing at the moment.

      “I may have made _some_ study of historical issues, as well as economic and political.  One gains much insight from both the successes and failures of bygone days.”

      “I absolutely agree.  That’s why I pay so much attention to what I hear from the native peoples when we’re on expedition.  They know their history, both the good and the bad, and I try and record as much as I can when I have the chance.  It’s all spelled wrong, of course, but the learned fellows I pass my information along to seem to decipher it well enough.”

The surge of pride Mycroft felt for Lestrade was undeniable, so, in the interests of efficiency, he chose not to deny it in the least.  It was perfectly acceptable to feel proud of an acquaintance’s accomplishments and Gregory’s were more laudable than most.  To find success in such an unusual and demanding profession and make a tangible contribution to scholarly knowledge… it was a surprisingly heady thing to have an afternoon with a man so very different from himself, yet, in his own arena, a man of consequence.

      “I suspect they treasure every morsel of information you impart.  Were it not for men like you, we would know so little about certain regions of the world.  And, it seems, both you and Doctor Watson have respect for what you learn, which I find a rare thing even amongst our own society.”

      “Thanks!  Actually, I’m in awe of the people we meet.  They know so much and have such a rich culture.  I realize that people here don’t believe that, but it’s true.  That’s what I want, you know?  Meet new people, explore new places… experience different cultures and ways of life.  See gorgeous things and have a right adventure while doing it.  I do like that I can share it, in some small way, with others, though.  Talk about what I’ve seen or write down my experiences for people to read.  I know not everyone can go the places I’ve been, so this way, they can, at least, savor a taste of it.”

      “The day you scribe your memoirs, I shall gladly purchase the first published copy.”

      “No need!  I’m not joshing about the spelling troubles, so I’ll send the whole manuscript to you for a spot of editing before it goes off to the presses.  I suspect you have a particular talent for spelling and all the things that make writing something people want to read in the evening with a nice fire and a nicer whisky.”

The whiff of enduring acquaintance accompanied that proposition and Mycroft found it to his liking, atypical though the thought might be.

      “I would be honored to serve as your editor, Gregory.  To have first look at such an interesting tome would certainly be a special thing.”

      “You’ll have my gratitude, Mr. Holmes, and whatever _else_ I can give you as a token of my appreciation.”

Which will be so filthy that we’ll set our bed on fire, if I have my way about it.  Your face when it’s flushed with pleasure has to be the grandest vision in all of history.

      “I shall remember that, Gregory, and be most extravagant with my demands.”

      “Worth every bit of it.  Now… I would offer you a late lunch, but I suspect you’ll say you have work that needs to be done at home.”

Dastardly demon… how easily you see into my mind.  But, do you also see the regret?  The wholly uncharacteristic wish that I could accept your invitation?  Perhaps it is best you cannot, for I am certain the vehemence of my desire to continue our afternoon would surely make you question the nature of my ‘friendship.’

      “You would be correct, though I would apologize profusely for refusing your offer.”

      “Then, maybe you will repay my crippling disappointment by accepting an invitation to dinner, instead?  At your convenience, of course.  I’ve been hoping to have an evening out to enjoy a nice meal and I would be very happy if you would consent to accompany me.”

Did that sound straightforward and friendly?  Mycroft seemed to respond best to that… except when he was being burbled by some randy-but-I-wont-admit-they’re-randy words.  He responded _beautifully_ to those…

      “I… that is to say…”

      “Yes?”

      “I… would be delighted?”

Blast the upward inflection to make him sound trepidatious!  It was a collegial invitation so there was no reason to be quavery about accepting.

      “Wonderful!  You can let me know when you’re available.  So… I’ll hail a cab, shall I?”

Mycroft gave no sign of the unrest in his nerves, but felt their pestiferous tingling, nonetheless.  A dinner.  He was now committed to a dinner evening with a friend.  A bounty of dinners he had endured for business reasons but… how did one dine with a friend?  What were the rules?  The expectations?  Perhaps he should postpone this until the latest possible moment allowed by politeness so research could be made on the subject.  Would that appear distant and disinterested?  Blast!  This was more difficult that negotiating a peace treaty!

      “Please.  And, Gregory… I thank you for the invitation.”

Oh, I knew you would favor me with your luminous smile, so you have lost the element of astonishment, evil man.  Well, somewhat.  And do not believe for a moment that I am noticing the manly roughness of your voice as you attract the attention of a cab.  Your weapons are mighty, Gregory Lestrade, but my will is mightier. 

      “Yes!  That’s a spot of luck.  Already a cab for you, kind sir.   Shall we?”

Your solicitousness shall not sway me into believing you are anything but a villain, Gregory, however… it is kind of you to pretend to brush away an imaginary speck of dust from your shoulder while I… maneuver myself into this rather small example of transportation.  Perhaps it was time to bring his carriage back into use if such excursions were to increase in regularity.  It was a more substantial vehicle and easier to mount and dismount.  Of course… it would mean Gregory would not be required to take the space remaining on this miniscule bench and press against his body in the most necessary and… interesting… of fashions.  Perhaps the carriage was not the most stellar of ideas.  Besides, the age and health of his horses had not been verified in… Yes, contemplation of the carriage could certainly wait for a more opportune time.  Such as when Gregory was not nestling his compact form into a comfortable position and jostling him most delightfully.

      “There we are.  I admit it’s a treat to have a ride where I’m going.”

      “Yes, I would assume you are more used to walking to your destinations.”

      “No question about that.  It’s a hard habit to break, too.  When I’m back in London, I’m always late for my first few appointments because I walk to them instead of taking faster transport and I forget how big London can be if you’re on foot.”

      “However, your tardiness is forgiven owing to your rather peculiar mode of employment.”

      “It does give me some latitude for those pesky bits of social politeness.”

      “Which is very much to your liking, if I am not mistaken.”

      “Why wouldn’t it be!  Who really likes all that formality and can’t do this or that in their lives.  I mean… there’s some fun to be had with the various protocols and procedures if you make a game of them, but… I prefer things a little more straightforward and plain.”

      “There is some merit to that, I suppose.  For certain matters it surely would ease my burden if the rituals of society could be circumvented; however, I do appreciate the order and structure of social interactions.”

      “Really?”

      “There is a simplicity to the system when you understand the rules and they are properly followed.  The behaviors of people are predictable and, therefore, their management is easier to affect.”

      “Ooh, that hurt my head.  But, given it’s you, I see the point, at least for whatever you have to do for all that shadowy government business you do your very best not to give me any details about…”

It is not socially appropriate for you to point out the vagaries in my descriptions of my work, Gregory.  This shall stand as your first formal lesson in manners, though it shall, likely, have little effect given my words are entirely imprisoned within the confines of my skull.

      “… but what about for personal things?  Say… what if you have your eye on someone?  It’s like a military action to get the chance to spend time with them, let alone tell them you’re interested in more than a chaperoned walk in the garden.  When you _do_ get that chance, it’s still so formal and proper.  You’d get sent away to the madhouse or prison if you just swept them up and showed them the passion in your soul.  What about all of that?”

Not that Mycroft could answer, because his mind was still ruminating on what it would be like to be the recipient of the passion in the explorer’s soul and it seemed quite content to remain there for the time being.

      “Mycroft?”

      “What?  Oh, do pardon me… I was contemplating the scenario you laid out so succinctly.”

      “And what do you make of it?”

Things that could not be expressed for a multitude of reasons.

      “In truth, it is difficult to know.  I fear for a world ruled by the unbridled passions, for they manifest in such unexpected and illogical of ways.  Often with significant fervor.  There is much to be said for a steadier approach, one of consideration and analysis.”

      “Oh.  So… you want to be courted?”

Mycroft’s squawk coincided perfectly with a particularly harsh bump in the road, so he was fairly certain his maidenly sensibilities were not discerned.

      “P…pardon?”

      “For argument’s sake, of course.”

Look at my smile, Mycroft and know I’m lying through each of my big, strong teeth.

      “Yes, naturally.  Naturally… My, what a question.  I suppose… from a hypothetical, purely academic, viewpoint… I would respond… I must admit this is not something to which I have ever given thought, but… I believe…”

      “Yes?”

      “That were I to be in the impossible position of standing in the female’s role in a romance, then a courtship would be what I would expect.  It offers the chance to fully evaluate your potential mate, learn their habits and decide if they are to your liking, ascertain the quality of their character…”

      “Sample their kisses and see if they set your heart on fire.”

      “Mr. Lestrade!  That… a proper courtship is no place for fire.”

      “I’d say it’s the _perfect_ place.  Who wants to be married to someone who doesn’t make the colors of their world glow brighter every time they’re near?”

      “I… whereas I would grant that there are surely marriages built upon a foundation of affection, it is not entirely the point of the institution, so… _glowing_ is not a mandate.”

      “It’s _entirely_ the point!  I mean… I know that’s not what happens all the time, and the world’s a meaner place for it, but it _should_ be why you make a life with another person.”

      “That is most utopian vision, Gregory.”

      “Doesn’t mean it’s not a good one.  Or one a man can’t hope for.  Find a person you can share the stars with on a warm, clear night and not need another thing in the world to be happy.  Nothing wrong with that, nothing at all.”

There was an urgency in Lestrade’s voice that intrigued Mycroft mightily, but he set that aside because he could not deny that the explorer’s ‘utopian vision’ was something for which, in his own very deepest heart, he had held the smallest, most fragile, of wishes.  Not that it would ever be realized, of course, not with his nature and place in the world but… it was pleasant to contemplate, even in a fleeting, wistful fashion.

      “No, there is nothing wrong with desiring for one’s self a union that meets one’s _hopes_ for said union or the concept of a marriage that offers romantic love and the promise of true affection.  It is simply… not possible for many in our society.”

      “It hurts to say it, but I know you’re right.  So many people making a life with someone who’s convenient or whose material worth is all that recommends them.  _Or_ they don’t have any choice who they marry because someone else makes the decision for them.  It’s just so sad… breaks my heart to pieces.”

The incalculably uncharacteristic urge to pat his companion on the knee was quickly quelled and Mycroft simply cleared his throat and tapped his stick a few times on the floor of the cab.

      “Yes, it is a rather dispiriting situation if one focuses upon the uglier elements, but not all are unhappy with their choices, or those that were forced upon them.  Mummy, for instance, was effectively bartered for some rather choice properties, along with a selection of notable financial considerations and she found her life with Father quite the amicable one.  Despite their marriage being somewhat an arranged one, they found happiness with each other and spent many pleasant years together.  It was not, perhaps, a situation of fire and color, but I do not think either had regrets about the life they shared.”

      “That’s good to hear.  Really, I’m glad for them.  Oh, don’t pay any attention to me… maybe I do what I do because I don’t fit the normal model of an upstanding man of society and want something different from my life than what that normal model offers.  That doesn’t mean others can’t find satisfaction living along society’s plan and I shouldn’t take any stand against them.”

      “And I do not believe you were.  It is perfectly acceptable to state one’s opinions on matters, at least in private, and I found nothing particularly disparaging in your words.  More a sense of sadness for what you perceive as a loss of opportunity for those not as free to follow their own desires as you have been able with yours.  And I cannot say I am at odds, entirely, with your opinion.  It would be… a heartening thing… if we could all be free to live our lives according to our own wants, needs and desires.  However, such is not the case and, perhaps, it shall never be, but we go on.  We make do.  There is no other option.”

This time, it was the threads of emotion in _Mycroft’s_ voice that sounded loud in the cab, though not another ear by Lestrade’s could hear them.  But Lestrade’s ears were certainly the best those threads could fall upon.

      “Sometimes that’s true, Mycroft, I admit, but for the few… the ones who aren’t afraid to take chances and are willing to work to find a way through all that propriety… I think they _can_ have what they want.”

Mycroft turned to scrutinize Lestrade and tried to puzzle out the tone the explorer’s voice, feeling no surprise when he failed utterly.  His new friend was the most superficially-straightforward enigma he had ever known.

      “Thus has it always been so.”

      “Then I have hope for you yet, Mr. Holmes.  You’ve got a spine of iron so I know if there’s something you really want in this world, nothing, and I do mean nothing, is going to stop you from getting it.”

Lestrade turned his warmest and wickedest grin on Mycroft and adored the way Mycroft’s eyebrows rose above his intensely confused and curious eyes.

      “I… thank you?”

      “You’re welcome!  What a day… they don’t come finer, do they?”

All things considered, Mycroft had to concede that no, they certainly did not.  Less perplexing, perhaps, but not finer.  But, he was beginning to expect nothing less with Gregory...

__________

      “Well, here we are.  This has been a grand time, Mycroft, and I’m going to say a little thank you to your mum in my prayers tonight for giving us reason to get out and enjoy ourselves.”

      “Do spare the ears of the angels with what they, by now, realize are wholly undeserved accolades for my mother and her irritating antics.”

      “Listen to you, you terrible son.  That’s going to be something for her and me to talk about – little Mycroft and all his mischief.”

      “Which will be a blessedly short conversation as I was the polar opposite of a mischievous son.”

      “Alright, that conversation will be about Sherlock, then, and we’ll talk about how somber and serious a son you were, instead.”

      “That… that is a topic on which she could fill a library with anecdotes.”

      “Perfect!  Oh, this is going to be a wonderful thing.  Spread the word about my worthy profession and gain lots of stories about you, as well.”

      “I do believe I shall receive word to travel to China in the near future, such as tomorrow, so do not expect me to be in the vicinity when you either gather or hope to capitalize upon your ill-gotten gain.”

      “Pfft.  From what you’ve told me, your mum would just take the first bit of transportation she could find and drag you back by the nose.”

      “Good point.  Then I shall prepare myself for the torture of visiting the manor and expect to drink steadily once I arrive.”

      “It’s going to be alright, Mycroft, but I _will_ help you with the drinking part.  Speaking of, do you still have that excellent whisky you let me taste when I was here last?”

      “I do.”

      “Good, then I can have a glass when I stop in tomorrow to get started.”

Mycroft wondered if he had suffered some mental issue that blacked out the past few minutes of conversation where the topic of ‘tomorrow’ had been discussed.

      “Pardon?”

      “I need to make a start on your conservatory, don’t I?  I have tomorrow afternoon free, so that’s as good a time as any to make some progress.”

What!  Oh no… Gregory in his home, in his vicinity, so soon after today’s various… pleasures?  It was too much.  A man could only take so much proximity to what he admired but could never have and his limit was well and truly reached for the moment.

      “I do apologize, but I am terribly busy tomorrow and…”

      “I’ll be very quiet, I promise.  You won’t even know I’m there.”

That was an utter impossibility!  Gregory’s presence infused the house like the scent of freshly cut wood or the fragrance of fine, exotic oils that tantalized the senses with their richness.

      “My awareness for human presence is extraordinarily keen.”

      “You forget who I am.  I learned stealth from any number of wild predators.  Trust me, I’ll slip right out of your mind after I’ve said hello.”

Was the man mad?  Gregory was perfectly aware of his effect on those around him and his ability to leave an indelible impression on their memory.  Apparently, he had also learned of toying with his victims from the wild jungle cats with whom he frolicked.  Bounder.  Was everyone with whom the man associated tortured in this manner?  And did it matter, at all, in any fashion, that his status as king of his castle was very much intact, thank you very much?  No… how foolish of him.  That fact had already been shown to be of no importance whatsoever…

      “Given your busy schedule and the upcoming jaunt to the countryside, perhaps…”

      “I’ve pulled together some pots, too, so I can do a spot of planting.  By the time you’re done for the day, you’ll be amazed by what I’ve gotten finished.  In fact, let’s make that a condition.  No peeking until day’s end.”

Rubbing your hands together in glee is most juvenile, Gregory, however, your proviso is not altogether an unworkable one.  If there is one thing which a Holmes enjoys is a challenge and avoiding so-called peeking will be a challenge of mountainous proportions.

      “Very well.  Until tomorrow, then.”

      “Great!  Have a good evening, Mycroft.  And thank you again for today.”

Mycroft muttered a polite ‘good evening to you as well, Gregory’ and disembarked the cab, strolling as regally as he could to his door and not, not at all, because he was being watched.  By someone who believed the silhouette being cut by the regal man was the most stunning he’d seen in his life.  Like a galleon in full sail, Mycroft was simply breathtaking.  And, tomorrow, his eyes would get another fill of that lusciousness, which he would gladly repay with some good, hard work making his Mycroft Holmes a lovely place to relax.  And, no, he was not going to pay any notice to the ‘his Mycroft Holmes’ that just slipped into his mental flow or that it was happening at a greater and greater rate.  That was just loony.  It was far too soon for anything like that, so it was some form of delusion which, given it was him, was not at all out of the question.

Even if he hoped, with all possible hope, that Mycroft _would_ be his someday.  Now, he just had to figure out what to do when courting someone.  Especially  a someone as special as Mycroft Holmes…


	10. Chapter 10

      “You appear no different than a pulsating mass of overheated chicken fat and if you are preparing to explode, I expect fair warning so I might dive for cover and save my shirt and trousers the insult of your greasy dissolution.”

And, now, Sherlock.  Mummy, Gregory and Sherlock completes the triad of his discontent.  Though Gregory, in point of fact, could not precisely be described in such a manner.  Their day had been splendid; everything he had ever imagined one would experience with someone properly termed a ‘friend.’  Comfortable conversation, intellectually-engaging activities, the feeling… the feeling that one’s company was appreciated and enjoyed.  It had been a highly enjoyable expanse of time; however, his _intimate_ constitution had certainly been taxed to its limit by so long a time in such pleasurable circumstances with the virile creature that was Gregory Lestrade

      “I am simply a touch fatigued after the day’s exertion, which has only recently ended.”

      “Exertion?  You do not even know that word’s spelling, let alone its definition.”

      “Amusing.  For your information, I have just returned from an afternoon out of the house with Gregory.  We enjoyed a most protracted stroll and additional time at the British Museum.”

      “That cannot be true.  It would entail a number of steps greater than you have accumulated to this point in your lifetime and that degree of activity would spell your doom.”

      “As I have demonstrably not passed to the heavenly world beyond this, we may conclude that you are speaking malarkey.”

Though if Gregory had not decided cabs were an approved method of travel, that heavenly world might now be his permanent address.  Sherlock’s hysteria was its usual blather, but there was _some_ degree of veracity to his assertions.

      “Why was Lestrade even here?  Does he not have some eager audience of low-quality minds to dazzle with his pea-witted prattle?”

      “Gregory’s ability to tilt his lectures to any strata of audience is an admirable trait, and you would do well to study his example.”

      “If I cared a whit about self-aggrandizement, perhaps I might.  Lestrade’s need for attention and associated arrogance is staggeringly off-putting.”

      “Hmmmmm…. you are most fractious today, Sherlock.  Might Doctor Watson today be unavailable to you for your research?”

Sherlock’s thunderous pout told Mycroft his suspicion was directly on the mark.

      “He sent a message that his presence had been requested at a meeting with a selection of the Bart’s various, and useless, stooges and he chose that instead of our vital work.”

      “And what degree of choice was he allowed in this decision?”

      “Immeasurable!  Simply because the hospital governing board is considering providing John with a miniscule stipend for his continued contribution to the nature and treatment of exotic diseases, he shows his belly and abandons me.  He is a bounder and that is truth of it.”

Sherlock flung himself onto the small sofa in Mycroft’s study and snarled at the high and rather ornate ceiling.

      “I have not heard such vitriol from you since you were thirteen years of age and one of Mummy’s footmen dropped your shipment of laboratory glassware.”

      “That had to be specially ordered and it took a century to arrive!  The fumble-fingered imbecile should have been sacked for setting back my research an eon.”

      “The fact you rounded the corner unexpectedly and shrieked at the poor, unsuspecting man had nothing at all to do with the tragedy, of course.”

      “It was simply a manifestation of my eagerness to begin my work.  It is not my fault he was of a nervous disposition.”

Or a child’s extreme excitement that his long-awaited package had arrived.  Sherlock’s surly and serious manner failed him at the most humorously-predictable times.

      “Be that as it may, it is uncharitable of you to harbor such ill-will towards Doctor Watson, especially since this seems to be something that will be of benefit to him.  I… I admit that I have no figure to offer as to the financial compensation John receives for his efforts, however, I suspect it is not a princely sum.  Any additional funds towards his coffers will likely be a welcome thing.”

      “Perhaps he _should_ find a wife.  A wealthy one.  He would then be able to concentrate on the more important things and forget this idiotic grubbing for money.”

Says the boy who had never known a day without a full stomach, a warm bed and a healthy wardrobe from which to choose the day’s garments.

      “Yes, it is terribly rude of him to consider his own welfare and comfort, but, to clarify a point about which you lack a robust portfolio of knowledge… a wife would make her own demands upon his time and, since Doctor Watson appears a compassionate fellow and must share a household with her, it is most likely that he would give serious consideration to her wants and not be as available to you as you might hope.”

      “Ugh… is there nothing a corset and skirt cannot besmirch?”

      “A few, I believe, however, I do not think that particular worry looms large in your future.  However, something else _does_ loom large and you should start this very instant preparing yourself.  Mummy has issued an invitation to Gregory and John, both, to visit the manor and Gregory has full intention of accepting.  I suspect John will follow suit, if only to sit in the front pew for the best view of the ensuing mayhem.”  

      “WHAT!  Intolerable!  John is going nowhere near the manor and neither am I!  Mummy is decidedly out of bounds with her delusions and I will not be party to her ridiculous frivolity.”

      “We are both to be party to them, I am afraid.  The official notification has not arrived, but it will likely fall upon our doorstep the day before we are to leave to give us no time to dispatch a refusal.”

      “I simply will not submit to her dictatorialism.”

      “That is your prerogative, but consider well the consequences.  Mummy will certainly make my life miserable because of it and I will pass that along to you a hundredfold.  How fare the soles of your shoes, brother dear?  Sufficiently thick to withstand the leagues you may have to walk to secure employment to fund the rent and board I shall charge you for your continued residence?”

      “You would not dare!”

      “Oh, do you prefer to find your own home in this fair city?  I shall pass along the name of several agents to that effect, though the properties they represent might be somewhat beyond your reach.”

      “That… that is extortion!”

      “Is it?  Oh dear, I seem to have gone to the bad.  Woe is me.”

Sherlock made a forceful flip so that he faced the back of the sofa and Mycroft silently laughed at the childishness.  Sherlock despised visiting the manor, but would go because Mummy wished it, without any need for extortionate measures.  However, they were fun to threaten, nonetheless.

Given the distraction from his internal uprising, the elder Holmes found his nerves sufficiently soothed to return to the normalcy of his evening and the stack of documents that were biding their time on his desk.  The Empire waited for no man, save him, but even he could not allow it to wait for long.  Much to do and so very few hours in a day to do it all, but he would persevere.  Unless he began to think about Gregory’s upcoming visit.  Perhaps a nice selection of cheese would keep his mind on track.  A delectable nibble always bolstered his spirits when the paper dragons sat upon his desk waiting to be slain.  And it would further agitate Sherlock, which was always a delight.

__________

One brother breakfasted, dressed and out the door to meet his craven betrayer at Bart’s to make use of the additional laboratory facilities it offered.  One housekeeper warned of an impending guest and that none of her shenanigans would be appreciated while Gregory did… whatever it was he had decided to do.  Dastardly man.  If there was not some demonic blood in his ancestry, the astonishment would be great.

With a deep breath, Mycroft reached out and took down a book from his shelves to begin the day’s toil.  He had taken two full hours of sleep and that had refreshed his mind quite nicely to meet this busy and unpredictable day.  Where Gregory would be in the house.  Doing things.  Of a physical nature.  Where there could be… perspiration.  Or… shirtsleeves.  Which might be rolled up to preserve the dignity of the cuffs.  Oh dear, maybe it was best to sit down…

__________

      “Well, what took you so long?”

Lestrade smiled at the peevish Mrs. Hudson and waggled his box happily.

      “Had things to do this morning and then I had to gather all of this.  Besides, it’s just turned afternoon!”

      “And His Majesty has been in a mood all morning.  You’d think with Sherlock out of the house, he’d be singing a hymn, but he’s grumbled and waved off every question I’ve asked him and has checked his pocket watch a hundred times.  He doesn’t have visitors often, Mr. Explorer, so you take getting here on time very, very seriously.”

Mr. Explorer deigned not to mention that he’d actually never set a firm arrival time, because it was too much fun to watch Mrs. Hudson give him a scolding and, of course, learn that Mycroft was anxious for him to make his appearance.

      “Sorry, Mrs. Hudson.  I didn’t mean to upset the household with my shilly-shallying.”

      “See it doesn’t happen again.  Now, come along and we’ll get you settled.”

Following quickly, Lestrade ported his supplies to the conservatory and smiled again when he caught sight of the space he was going to bring back to life.

      “It’ll be good to see something in here besides dust and things we’ve hidden away from the rest of the house because we don’t have any other place for it, like that horrid lamp one of Mr. Holmes’s associates gave him for some reason or another.  Ghastly thing… whatever you find like that, just put it in a pile and I’ll have a lad take it away.  What Mr. Holmes doesn’t know certainly won’t hurt him.”

And with that tacit order to make the space presentable, regardless of the casualties, the housekeeper turned on her heel and left the conservatory, while Greg’s mind ran wild with possibilities.  Setting down his box of plant pots, Lestrade checked his own pocket watch for the time he would see some good soil delivered from a few patrons of the horticultural society.   For what he wanted to do, a shovel in someone’s sheep field wasn’t going to get him what he wanted, so dirt from people who took their plants seriously was called for.  And it was fine day for working with that soil, too.  The conservatory was warm, there was just enough brightness in the sky to give the place a welcoming bit of light and he was ready to put his muscles into action.  Muscles that would happily flex and move for Mr. Holmes viewing pleasure if he happened to do some prohibited peeking, which was almost guaranteed, so… fine day.  Very, very fine day…

__________

Gregory was in the house.  Notification had been given and now… he could not do a blasted thing!  Whereas that was not entirely true, his efficiency had fallen a full 12% and that was a staggering amount by his standards.  And Mrs. Hudson simply had to comment that Gregory’s appearance was particularly casual and manly today.  Harridan.  Gregory in a suit was breathtaking.  Gregory in his more casual garb was also breathtaking.  Could the man not evince an appearance other than one designed to perturbate the calm of gentlefolk?  Well, if the villain could not demonstrate even a modicum of manners, he would not stoop to chastisement, for his lecture would certainly fall on deaf ears.

Attempting to regain his lost efficiency did not go quite as smoothly as Mycroft hoped, though, given the continued turn of his mind to what might be occurring out of his sight and the overly-frequent visits by Mrs. Hudson with refreshments or to inform him of some inconsequential household occurrence that gave her opportunity to spy upon him.  That she dropped the meagerest of hints about the status of Gregory’s progress was unconscionable, in his opinion.  If she dropped _any_ hints they should be full and meaty, not the slimmest bit gristle on a well-gnawed bone.  But, no, he would not take to surveillance to put flesh upon that bone.  He would not.  It was so mandated.  And, lo!  A lovely chocolate reward appears for his dedication to being the better man and not falling victim to his curiosity.  A very tasty and lovely chocolate reward.  Oh dear… now his fingers were soiled with the evidence of his revelry.  Must seek a cloth and, perhaps, a bit of water to cleanse them.  Where  might those be found?  Surely not in here.  How dreary to have to take one’s self away from one’s work and roam one’s home in search of tidying materials.  How utterly, utterly dreary… best get to it, then, before the house’s resident witch interfered…

__________

      “Oh, no you don’t!”

Mycroft’s slow and unobtrusive meander towards the conservatory came to an abrupt end with the hurling of Mrs. Hudson across his path, blocking any further progress towards the room.

      “I beg your pardon!”

      “Beg all you like, Mr. Holmes, but you’re not having a look in there and that’s my final word on it.  Positively indecent, it is.”

Mycroft hoped the lurch his heart gave wasn’t immediately lethal because Mrs. Hudson would certainly leave him where he dropped until the day when she did her ‘big’ cleaning.

      “In… indecent?”

      “Scandalously.  It was a lucky thing, a very lucky thing, that I decided to bring Mr. Lestrade something to drink because if one of the younger girls had done it, they would have fainted right away.”

      “F… fainted?”

      “Not a shirt on and with people about… maybe they do that sort of thing in whatever foreign lands he visits, but not in England!  Not a stitch of clothes on above the waist and perspiring like he was working farm land… dripping down his skin while his muscles do things a gentleman’s muscles would never think to do.  Just like a farm lad, let me tell you, and I’ve a few in the family so I know what I’m talking about!”

      “P…p…perspiration?”

      “Running down his skin.  Don’t forget that bit.  Or the flexing muscles.  Not a fit thing for a lass to see, so it was fortunate it was me that did the seeing.  Now, I know that’s not a fit thing for _you_ to see either, so you go on about your business and let Mr. Lestrade parade about half-naked all he likes until he’s ready to let you see what he’s done.  I’ll keep an eye that he doesn’t go wandering where you might catch sight of him.  Go on now, you’ve got work to do and you’re not getting it done standing here.”

Mycroft suffered being turned and given a push along the hallway because his brain wasn’t actually registering anything besides a particular mental image that was unrivaled in its impact on his body.  No, there would be no work at the moment.  There would be no _thinking_ at the moment.  There would be sitting.  A lot of sitting.  Behind his desk so that any of Mrs. Hudson’s lasses who might pop their heads into his study would not see another sight, far more indecent than that of a partially-unclothed man, for they were much too young and innocent to have any concept of erections and he was not prepared to be the one to explain them…

As her employer walked away with a particular gait she remembered from certain events in her youth, Mrs. Hudson smiled and turned towards the conservatory, throwing open the large doors and putting a little skip in her step as she strolled in to greet the fully-clad explorer who was busily working on his project.

      “I suppose you could use something to nibble, greedy lad that you are.”

Greg wiped his brow and grinned widely at the telling smile on his visitor’s face.

      “He tried to sneak a look didn’t he?”

      “Of course he did!  What did you expect, meddlesome man that he is?  I put a stop to that straight off, though, and I don’t think he’ll be trying it again, if he knows what’s good for him.”

Mr. Holmes could _not_ afford any additional blood leaving his brain for more southerly regions.

      “It wouldn’t be a bad thing, you know.  Letting Mycroft have an early look, I mean.”

Because you want him to see you hot and working like a saucy, slightly-rough, lad who’d like nothing more than to have a little go at someone who caught his fancy and do it very, very properly.  Mr. Lestrade was exactly as bad at hiding his interests as the man he was interested _in_ and nothing could make her happier.  He was just what Mr. Holmes needed and, if she had her way, her employer would see each and every one of his needs met.  Regularly.

      “Yes, it would.  He’d start dithering about this or that and you’d end the day with nothing accomplished.  Now, I’ll bring you a little something to keep up your strength and you get back to it.  A bit more honest work and we’ll see an actual difference in this poor old dear.”

Which had already happened and Lestrade laughed at the housekeeper’s failure to keep her glee off her face.

      “Yeah, I haven’t done much, have I?  Bit of sweeping, bit of shuffling things about… next time, I’ll have something to show for my being here.”

      “See that you do.”

Mrs. Hudson winked and darted off to get the explorer something solid and hearty to keep him going awhile longer.  The conservatory was looking untold times better than it had and after only a few dedicated hours of care.  Mr. Lestrade was a man who knew what he was doing and was good at it, as well.  Just the sort of man to keep an eye on a certain type of household when the other half of said household had his mind on other things that came in a double-envelope.  Provided, of course, he was smart enough to stay in England long enough to get that idea clearly and cleanly sunk into Mr. Holmes’s mind.  All that traipsing hither and yon was fine, but a body needed to spend some time at home now and then, too.  The more welcoming the home the better and what was more welcoming than someone whose lewd thoughts compromised him as damningly as any randy-thinking youth when they ran through his head…

__________

      “Mr. Holmes?  Might you have a moment to inspect the progress on your conservatory?”

The sterile and overly-formal tone alerted Mycroft that Mrs. Hudson was, somehow, having a jest at his expense.  The evil in this house verged on limitless.

      “I suppose I have a few minutes at my disposal.”

Mycroft slowly rose from his chair and waited for Mrs. Hudson to depart before making a quick check that his jacket was neat and everything hung properly, without any evidence of his earlier experience with raging, unchecked libido.  Something which roared back in full force when he took his first step into the conservatory and his eyes drank in the sight of his guest, who was clad only in leg and… bottom… flattering trousers and a loose-cut white shirt, of which the top few buttons had been undone to reveal the most salacious flashes of skin.  With perspiration.  Which dotted other regions of the cloth to draw his eye to every part of Gregory’s torso in the most impudent manner.  Though that was not nearly as impudent as… skin.  With the glistening shimmer of perspiration that spoke of action and effort and, perhaps, sounds of the most arousing nature…

      “Mycroft?  Well?  How do you like it so far?”

Oh.  Yes.  The conservatory.  Must actually look at the conservatory.

      “It…”

Was astonishing.  What Gregory had accomplished in a single day was nothing less than miraculous.  The space almost appeared back to its former self, something he had never thought he would see again.

      “… it is most satisfactory.  Truly, I did not believe you would produce such a change after a single day’s work.”

      “Thanks!  Neither did I, actually, but it wasn’t as bad in here as I’d remembered.  Just needs some simple, basic tending and I am one of the best alive when it comes to simple, basic things.  Oh!  Come and see these.”

Mycroft unquestioningly obeyed the beckoning finger and found himself viewing the explorer’s planting efforts.  The exotic seeds and bulbs he had brought were now sleeping cozily in their beds waiting for the right moment to wake and begin to grow.

      “I got a lot of advice about these and I think they’ll do brilliantly in here.  I’ll keep my eye on them and see they get what they need so they make a good showing for you, though.  And, if it’s alright, I’m going to see some other plants brought in, ones that are already going about the business of being green and looking lovely, so the space gets that feeling we’re hoping for right away.”

The idea of his own small piece of Eden had never appealed to Mycroft more.  With the vision taking shape and the sheer enthusiasm of Gregory infecting the room, if the conservatory was not restored to its full splendor it would be because the end of days had arrived before the deed could be done.

      “I believe that to be an exceptional idea, Gregory.  I shall instruct Mrs. Hudson to make available to you what you need from the household reserves and…”

      “No need for that; I’m happy to cover the cost.  It was me who pushed this on you, in a manner, so it should be me to see it through to the end, funds included.”

      “Gregory… I cannot allow that.  Surely you have better use for your wages and…”

      “Actually, I don’t.  I have a free room from the RGS and meals if I want them.  And, I don’t spend much since I don’t tend to accumulate a lot of things and what I do gather… most of it is in storage at the RGS waiting for me to find a place to finally see it put.  I’ll tell you what, consider it a gift if that makes it go down the throat more smoothly.  It’s a joy to do all of this and you deserve something nice for giving me this opportunity.”

And you gave gifts to the person you were courting, didn’t you?  Things that were beautiful?  Of course you did and what could be more beautiful than a room full of nature’s wonder?

      “I… well, that is to say…”

      “That is to say… yes?”

      “I am not… that is to say…”

      “Which you’ve already said before so I suspect you don’t have any real objection or it would have tripped right off the edge of your tongue.”

And what glorious things that tongue wanted to do.  There’s been no missing how wide Mycroft’s eyes had gotten seeing the bit of skin he’d put on display.  Someone wanted to take a taste and, one day, a taste would certainly be taken.  From more places than his chest, too.

      “No, I cannot say that… very well.  Thank you, Gregory.  I happily accept your gift and the spirit behind it.”

And Mycroft found he actually meant that.  In truth, he was trying to remember a gift given him by anyone other than Mummy or Mrs. Hudson that was presented with no ulterior motives and found he could not list a single example.  It was a generous gesture and Gregory, obviously, was glad to make it.  This day was truly rife with surprises…

      “Fantastic!  I’m thrilled and you have _my_ thanks for that.  Now, I suppose I should leave you to your evening.”

      “Already?  I mean… you are, of course, welcome to say for a bit of conversation.  And, you have not yet enjoyed your promised whisky.”

If that was not humiliatingly pleading, Mycroft had no idea what would fit the bill.  Good heavens… he was an adult, not a simpering child… but did Gregory really have to leave so soon?

      “I’d love to stay, truthfully, but I’m not sure you’d be happy with me and my dirt soiling your nice sofa.  I do want to be back soon, though, to keep moving forward with this so… shall we say day after tomorrow?  I have a full day of talking to academics tomorrow, but I’ve got a world of time the next day.  And I’ll bring a clean shirt with me so one quick meeting with the wash basin and we can have some time with that whisky and conversation.  A nice fire, too.  I do enjoy the fire in your library.  It’s especially cozy for some reason, or maybe it’s just the company.”

The Grin!  His heart would never survive the continued assault of Gregory and his grin.  And skin.  And perspiration.  Which had been running in rivulets down Gregory’s sun-kissed skin within recent memory.

      “What an agreeable compromise.  I shall expect you in two days’ time, then.”

      “We have a plan!  I have to say, Mycroft, this has been a lot of fun.  Good to flex the muscles doing something productive.  Makes a man feel like he’s done something worthwhile with his day.”

Muscles!  That anatomical feature was officially added to the list of unapproved conversation topics.  Gregory’s muscles would be notable, but layered with a delightful softness from age that would feel absolutely incomparable under his fingers.  Not that he would ever have the opportunity, but, today, his mind seemed most content to live in a world of fantasy, so in his imagination he willingly would stay.

      “I have no doubt you are correct.  Let me escort you to the door.”

And walk behind you so that your bottom is visible without the shrouding of your jacket.  Ah, how pleasant was this little world of imagination.  Perhaps he should purchase a residence here, for there was little chance he would not be enjoying its hospitality on a frequent basis.

      “Here we are.  At least my jacket will cover the worst of the dirt and dust.  Won’t get chased off anyone’s stoop because they think I’m some suspicious character looking for a way to burgle their fine house.”

      “I suspect you would charm whosoever saw fit to call the constables and find yourself let off without even a warning.”

The grin alone ensured Gregory could commit the most heinous of murders and stay a free man, likely with an invitation to afternoon tea with the family of the man he had killed sitting in his pocket.

      “Definitely a flatterer.  Which is something I can’t say I dislike.  Good evening, Mycroft.  I’ll see you soon.”

      “Good evening, Gregory.  I very much look forward to our next meeting.”

Something Mycroft sincerely meant and Lestrade read easily in the man’s brilliant blue eyes.  And, no, it wasn’t intentional that he reflexively reached out and gave Mycroft’s arm a tender squeeze, much as any friend would give to another.  Though not as tenderly.  Or with a swallowed grunt of delight at how Mycroft’s flesh felt in his grasp.  If he didn’t get more of that flesh under his fingers in this lifetime, he’d die a mournful man.

Dashing out and stopping only a moment to make a small bow and grace Mycroft with one final smile, Lestrade sauntered off into the slight evening chill, feeling none of it from the warmth of his own inner glow.  Did he give a gift to that gorgeous man?  He certainly did.  Did he prove that he had physical stamina and masculine strength?  Did that, too.  Courtship given a successful opening?  Without question.  Mycroft could not have looked more longingly at him when he left if he’d practiced the expression for a role on the stage.  One day… one day that longing would be satisfied and the satisfaction would be ridiculously sweet.  Speaking of sweets… Mrs. Hudson _had_ dropped the name of Mycroft’s favorite confectioner today while they chatted about this and that.  Well, he’d had a taste for something luscious lately, besides Mycroft, that is, and wouldn’t it be nice to share the method of fulfilling that urge with a good friend?  Of course it would.  And, if he was anything, he was a nice man.  An especially nice man for certain people.  Who numbered one.  A magnificent and decidedly special one…


	11. Chapter 11

      “Oh, are you still here?”

John smiled at the voice and turned to make a face at Sherlock who was glaring at him from the door of Sherlock’s research space at Bart’s.

      “Is there somewhere else I should be?”

      “I supposed that with your newfound wealth you would have lost interest in purely academic pursuits.”

Someone was out of sorts today.  But… that wasn’t entirely unexpected from what John had discerned and the reason, apparently, was him.  Also, again, not entirely unexpected.  But, certainly, a great deal of fun.

      “I wouldn’t say the bit of extra money I’m going to see from the kind people here qualifies as wealth.  I suspect what Mycroft gives you in a week will outstrip what I gain in two months, if not more.”

      “That is poverty wages.”

      “No, not by any measure.  I doubt you understand what poverty really is, either here or, well, anywhere.  I’ll admit it’s not what you or your brother would consider a gentleman’s earnings, but it’s helpful for me.  Exploring is a grand adventure and I love the work I do, but it’s not something… well, I won’t find myself a rich man because of it.”

      “I see.  And I assume Lestrade is as impoverished as you.”

      “Not quite.  Greg sees a larger wage than me because he has greater responsibilities.  I mean, he plans everything, is in charge of seeing things done, has far more interaction with the public when we’re back here… but I know he’s also not anticipating a wealthy man’s life when he’s old and gray.  Or… _older_ and gray.  He does sometimes talk about finding some land in the country and having a nice little cottage to live in, but I don’t really know if he’s serious about it.  I do know he saves his money and may even invest it a little, which is more than I do, so he might actually have a tidy sum to take with him when he turns away from the explorer’s life.”

      “Then I can rest assured he will not come hat in hand to me to appeal for a servant’s position.”

      “Something I just can’t imagine Greg doing no matter how hard I try.”

      “When the cold winds of age blow through his bones, we shall see.”

      “Yeah, you’re completely off your head.  Now, are we going to work today or are you just going to continue thinking about doddery old Greg shambling through your house?”

      “Which he is already doing today, so the future is met.”

      “I forgot!  Oh yes, today’s his start on your conservatory.  He’s been looking forward to that.”

And making everyone who knew him insane with requests for plant pots, information about growing exotic plants in London, proper soil, etc.  The man was as besotted as any young lad with his first love and it was the most entertaining thing London had on offer at the moment.  Of course, Mycroft knew absolutely nothing about the besottedness and that was simply brilliant…

      “A ridiculous pursuit.  Plants… if they lack scientific interest, then there is no reason to insult one’s house with their presence.”

      “Plants are lovely!  Well, some are.  Some are rather boring, I’ll give you that, but there are truly beautiful ones in the world, too.  I think you’re just being argumentative for the fun of it, so it’s definitely time to find some work for you to do.”

      “Direct!”

      “No, _do_.  Today, since you’re being a bit of a handful, I’ll direct and you’ll be my assistant.  Besides, I’ve already gotten started and it’s going well, so… you won’t die from a day of being the second set of hands.  I meant to say, too, that this truly is a nice space they’ve given you here.  Not as well-equipped as your lab at home, but it’s certainly useful.”

      “It is adequate, at best.  However, Mycroft has forbidden me certain lines of research within the confines of the house, so accessory space was required.”

      “Shows he’s an intelligent man.”

Sherlock’s rude noise made John laugh and he happily kept giggling as Sherlock began to tie a lab apron around his waist.

      “Mycroft is an affront to science.  The health or sanity of the house staff should not be a concern when it comes to planning a research venture.”

      “Well, you don’t want anyone insane preparing your breakfast, do you?”

      “I fail to see the problem.  Insanity has no connection to food preparation.”

      “Alright then, we’ll see how happy you are when they put alum in your tea instead of sugar.”

      “If I am suffering intestinal issues, I would be glad for it.”

      “What an optimistic person you are.  Feeling any twinges now?  I can brew you a nice cup of tea and see you mended if you like.”

      “Are you trying to be amusing?”

      “Trying.  Apparently, not succeeding.”

      “I will award you partial credit for attempting a witticism.”

      “That’s most magnanimous of you, sir.  Thank you for being so gracious.”

      “You are welcome.”

John laughed again and moved aside slightly from his work so Sherlock could begin to take over, as was absolutely inevitable.  What did intrigue him was that Sherlock didn’t immediately dive in and begin to conduct the experiment, but John decided that when his companion was ready to assume the throne he would.

      “John… I am glad Bart’s decided to grant you the stipend.”

Oh.  Well, that was not exactly climbing the steps to the coronation.

      “You are?”

      “The work you are, and have been, doing is valuable and should be rewarded.”

Now, that was a surprise, but John was not about to complain.  Sherlock was obviously sincere and that was… nice.

      “I appreciate that, Sherlock.  I really do.”

Sherlock’s small, pleased grin gave John’s heart a little poke, but he did his best to ignore it.  No getting a case of interest and becoming another Greg Lestrade.  That would be irredeemably embarrassing.

      “And, due to your good fortune, you may purchase our lunch.”

      “Oh, lovely.  Man gets an extra farthing in his pocket and it immediately gets picked.  They warned me about the urchins in London, but I never thought I’d run afoul of one so soon.”

      “Rubbish.  No street urchin has my pickpocketing skills.  Or lock picking skills, for that matter.”

Sherlock looked so proud that John couldn’t help but start laughing again.  His new friend was surely a unique character, but what was wrong with that?  Plenty of plain, ordinary people in the world, but there were so few unique souls that they… they had their own special shine.  Not that that was indication of interest, mind you.  Just a simple fact.  But, Sherlock _did_ sport a fine look of smugness, didn’t he?  One would be lying if the answer was no…

__________

      “That’s a good day’s effort, don’t you think?”

John happily set down the small vial in his hand, now filled with a very interesting plant extract and grinned at Sherlock who seemed to be mulling over the situation.

      “It was not a day wasted, that much I can say.”

      “Always with the positive attitude.  That’s why I enjoy working with you, Sherlock.”

The fact that Sherlock seemed to agree with assessment put another grin on John’s face and he had to admit that not only was his work going much faster than normal, but he was having a grander time with it, too.

      “It _is_ one of my more admirable traits.  Are you available again tomorrow to begin the analysis?”

      “Actually, I am.  Greg’s going to be busy with things, but I’m not a part of it and I don’t have anything on my own either, so we can get an early start, if you like.  Here or…”

      “Here would be appropriate.  Certain of the methods and materials we will use are on Mycroft’s ridiculous list of household illegalities.”

      “Then here it is!  Not so bad, really.  I do miss Mrs. Hudson’s tea trays, though.  She knows exactly what a man wants to see when he’s brought a nice cup of bracing tea.”

      “Continue on that path and you will become as fat as Mycroft.”

      “Don’t be evil to your brother, Sherlock.  Mycroft’s a…”

      “Elephant?”

      “What did I just say about being evil?  He’s an imposing individual and that’s probably a good thing for the sort of business he’s doing.  Which exactly is what, anyway?”

      “That is a question that you shall never find answered to your satisfaction.  He is like a spider in a web with a thousand threads going hither and yon and returning back to his desk behind while his rotund bottom warms his chair.”

      “You do know there is no real information in any of what you just said, don’t you?”

      “And that, on its own, is likely enough of a state secret that you could be executed for treason if caught repeating it to other ears.”

      “How much of that solvent did you inhale?”

      “I shall weep not in the shadow of your gallows, John.”

      “Too much, obviously.  Alright, time to get out into the fresh air and see if we can bring you back from the world of the spirits.  Do you… are you expected home soon?”

      “Mycroft does prefer that I am home before he retires for the evening, in case I am escorted by the constables who he must then bribe to satisfy the ludicrous system of what passes for justice in this city, however, as he rarely sees his bed before the single-digit hours of the morning… why do you ask?”

      “Oh, I just thought you might want to join me for a good ale or two to celebrate our progress.”

      “Our progress was not particularly more robust than it has been for other days.”

      “Alright, then we can have a good ale or two for the joy of having an ale or two.”

      “Interesting.  Alcohol seems to be a critical component of the routine entertainment of the common man.”

      “Are you saying I’m common?”

      “I did not, but _you_ readily aligned yourself with that particular group.”

      “No, I just… what’s wrong with having a hearty mug of ale after a hard day!”

      “Nothing, I suppose, I was simply making note of a societal pattern.”

John rubbed his eyes a second and wondered if there was any laudanum in the lab to take the edge off his… Sherlock.

      “Are we finding ourselves a nice drink or not?”

      “Hmmmm… I fail to find the suggestion more than marginally objectionable.”

      “Does that mean yes?”

      “Wasn’t I clear?”

      “No.”

      “Oh.  Then, yes.”

      “Yes for beer?”

      “Wasn’t I clear?”

John tried to hold an irritated glare, but it didn’t last long and he was chuckling softly as he tossed his lab apron on a stool and moved to get his coat off its peg.

      “You were very clear. I was simply verifying the clarity of the… clarity.”

      “That is redundant.”

      “It won’t seem that way with enough beer.”

Sherlock snorted, but added his apron to the stool and retrieved his coat and scarf, frowning as his hat settled on his head.

      “I hate hats.”

      “I hate them, too, that’s why I rarely wear one.”

      “Whereas you may blame your lack of social standing and forgiveness of social rituals due to your rather exotic profession as reason for presenting in the street like a rag-picker, I cannot do the same.”

      “Mycroft holds back your allowance funds if you embarrass him in public?”

      “… It is not unheard of.”

      “Well, nobody we’ll meet tonight has any of that social standing to speak of, so I suspect word won’t make it to his ears that you were seen out of doors bare-headed.”

Given the various eyes his brother seemed to have on him on a regular basis, Sherlock was not entirely certain of that fact, but the thought of rebellion was simply too tempting to ignore.

      “Very well.  Carry my hat.”

      “I’m not carrying your hat!”

      “Do be sensible, John.  I cannot leave it here.”

John wondered if Sherlock’s mental majesty was a genetic trait because, if so, Greg must be stark raving mad by this point.  And why was he taking the hat from Sherlock’s hand and tucking it under his arm?

      “Then you’re paying for our ale.”

      “I am not a wage-earner.  That would be you.”

      “You’re a… money-getter.  So use some of your gotten money to buy our beer.”

      “You are a demanding man, John.”

Since biting down on the brim of Sherlock’s fine hat wouldn’t make the curly-haired man vanish and would simply ruin an innocent piece of headwear, John simply waggled it at his nemesis and stalked out of the lab, trailed closely by Sherlock who was still tsk-ing John’s imperious behavior.  Fortunately, from Sherlock’s point of view, alcohol had a calming effect and should soothe John’s inflamed humors.  That would make the evening a far more relaxing one and John could certainly use the relaxation, given this burst of kingly aspirations…

__________

      “Good heavens, Sherlock.  This is a surprisingly late hour for you.”

Sherlock waved off Mycroft’s weak condemnation and focused instead on the scattering of plates on his brother’s desk, each bearing signs of something rich and decadent that had met its untimely end in Mycroft’s mouth.

      “Why are you agitated?”

      “I simply worry when you are in the city in the later hours of the evening.”

      “That is not at all what I meant and you are very well aware of that fact.”

      “I am very well aware of nothing of the sort.  Is it now a criminal action to have concern for one’s brother?”

      “It should be, however, I am more interested in the events of your day that has forced Mrs. Hudson to send a messenger before first light to have delivered a larder of food for ours has vanished in a most gluttonous display of eating to reduce stress.”

      “Poppycock.”

      “I disagree.  I do have some knowledge of you from the unfortunately large number of years I have endured in your presence and I would be the feeblest of wits if I could not seam together the threads of evidence into a clearly discernable tapestry.”

      “I reiterate my previous poppycock.”

      “You may cry poppycock like startled crow, however, it will avail you nothing.  Except, perhaps, another few moments where something gout-inducing does not pass between your lips.”

Mycroft glared at Sherlock who affected his most disinterested expression as he strolled to the sofa and dropped onto it.

      “Now, you may begin boring me with your troubles.”

      “If that was a sincere offer of camaraderie, then I would offer thanks, brother, however since, first, it is not and, second, I have no troubles, I will, instead, bid you goodnight and hope you find your sleep most restful.”

      “That was a spectacularly lackluster attempt at retort.  The blood that should be fueling your brain has obviously been diverted for another, less useful, purpose.”

Sherlock and no idea why his brother scowled so fiercely, but it was an entertaining sight, in any case.

      “I gave your juvenile nattering the degree of attention it deserved, which was slight.  Now, if you will excuse me…”

      “It is unlikely to be a work matter, as those veer you towards chocolate and there is little of that in evidence.  Mrs. Hudson’s meddlesome manner standardly merits the demise of our Stilton and Mummy’s antics are the second death-knell of whatever meat or fowl remains after your already mountainous dinner.  So… this is something new for I see before me evidence of a diversity of comestibles typically associated only with a royal banquet.”

      “Your own evening must have been supremely unsatisfying for you to invest so much time and interest into my own bland day, brother dear.”

      “My evening was most enjoyable, for so much as any evening spent with the rabble, quaffing substandard ale.  However, John appreciates the atmosphere of the public houses, so a few hours of milling amongst the unwashed is not as onerous as it might be under other circumstances.  John is much more agreeable a person when he is placated with beer than when he is not.”

      ”A most ringing endorsement of his character.”

      “Do not impugn John!  It is not his fault he was born into penury.”

Observing the progress of Sherlock’s first friendship was nothing if not an educational, and enjoyable, experience and Mycroft cherished each peek of emotion from his brother when the subject of the good doctor was raised.  However, his mind was not precisely in the mood for enjoyment at the moment…

      “True, we do not have a say in the forces that bring us into being, but, at this point, I have no time for more of your nonsense.  Goodnight, Sherlock.  I shall see you in the morning.”

      “No.”

      “Oh, do you plan on becoming invisible overnight?”

      “You are not an amusing person, Mycroft, so do not humiliate yourself by attempting to wear the mask of the comedian.  If you simply confess your inner turbulence, we might both see this night ended sooner than later.”

Mycroft sighed heavily and leaned back in his chair.  Sherlock was entirely too perceptive for his own good.  Or, _he_ was entirely too transparent for _his_ own good.  In either case, this was certainly on par with the remainder of his evening… his mind had been overrun with the most pestiferous of pixies since Gregory had departed.

      “It is not a matter of consequence, Sherlock.  In truth, I am simply reflecting upon the… dichotomy of the real and unreal and finding the schism an unpalatable one.”

      “That was an astounding application of inanity.  Truly, I applaud you.”

Which Sherlock demonstrated by a prolonged, slow clapping of his hands.

      “Now it is you who ape the performers of comedy, brother.  Is it actually impossible for you to leave me with my thoughts and find entertainment elsewhere?”

      “Yes.”

      “Naturally.  It is nothing to do with you, for your information.  Does that in any way sway your obstinacy?”

      “No.”

Monosyllabic Sherlock was the most recalcitrant of species and there was really nothing for it but to concede defeat.  There was no energy remaining in his body for a protracted battle.

      “Very well.  I… I am, today, in the unenviable position of finding myself… with thoughts I am finding difficult to reconcile.  It is not often, it is not _ever_ , rather, that I feel the pull of wishing, but it has me in its grasp, though I know it is not a wish that could ever be realized.  It is not a wish that _any_ man could believe realizable, especially one in my position.  I am feeling oddly upturned by the situation and, despite my best efforts, I have yet to right my mind and let it find peace.”

All of which was as uninformative as his brother’s last attempt at explanation, however, Sherlock had sufficient perspicacity to read the tone and slight slump of Mycroft’s shoulders to have some small idea of the cause of the tumult.

      “You have gained _interest_ in someone.”

      “That is not your business.”

      “Perhaps not, however, that does not render it untrue.”

      “Would that it were.  Untrue, that is.”

      “It does not bring the world to an end that you harbor thoughts about another man.  And, I am well aware, you are not the only man in the world to do so.  Society’s disapproval of a thing does not vanish it from existence.”

      “It does, however, make that thing as good as vanished for it cannot be made manifest in a proper and regarded life.”

      “You care nothing for propriety and regard.”

      “Incorrect.  My work demands I associate with those who hold both in high esteem and that work would be made immeasurably more difficult if my reputation was not of the highest order.”

      “Then your internal upset is misplaced since thoughts, despite the various claims by stage magicians and spiritualists, cannot be read by others and your reputation cannot be sullied by what you think, regardless of the salacity of the content.”

That Sherlock had a credible point would not, of course, be acknowledged.

      “The revelation of my mental workings is not my concern, Sherlock.  It is… it is simply that the workings exists.  It is a singular experience and one I have no framework on which to build an interpretation, let alone, acclimate myself to the message contained therein.”

      “Which is?”

      “That wanting is not the same as having.  That there is not even a linear progression from one to the other, for some things.  No work ethic or perseverance that will take a body from the anticipative want to the satisfied have.  I should not… it is idiotic and juvenile to even want!  A man of my age, of my status… of my temperament, let alone my nature… it is foolish to want.  A foolish and pathetic waste of time and mental machinations, yet… yet I cannot purge it from my mind.”

No more than he could purge from his mind the visions, both mental and real, of Lestrade engaged in today’s activities.  Or… the touch.  Not accidental, but intentional.  The clasp of an arm that one friend would give to another, but… his mind so desperately wanted to imagine more.  To fantasize and dream that the small squeeze was a secret sign, one easily given in public, of something more than friendship.  Damn Gregory!  He had avoided the tribulations of romantic misery for scores of years and now… now, he had fallen into the infernal bog and there was not a branch or vine at the ready to grasp for a chance at escape.

      “I see.  And who is the… oh no.  Do not tell me you have become undone by Lestrade.”

Sound the warning bells!  Sherlock must not have any idea that Gregory was involved or life would become unaccountably intolerable!

      “Perish the thought.”

Said in precisely the tone that made Sherlock even more suspicious about the identity of his brother’s tormentor.

      “Why do make it sound a preposterous proposition?”

      “Because Gregory is a… natural man.  He certainly does not have _leanings_.”

      “How do you know?”

What a ridiculous question.

      “That question is utterly ridiculous.”

      “Which means you have no answer for it.”

      “Wrong.  It is the obviousness that renders your query asinine.  If Gregory were a man with my tastes… I would know, that is all.”

      “How?”

      “Good heavens, Sherlock!  You are contentious this night.”

      “I simply want to learn how you would know such a thing.  Unless, of course, we are returning to a discussion of mind reading.”

      “A man of such a nature demonstrates… signs.”

      “Oh.  I see.  Which explains why you were dragged before the courts and pelted with dung by your various associates for your own perversion.”

      “Now you are being hyperbolic.”

      “No, merely pointing out the flaws in your argument.  As you give no outward sign that you would prefer a male, should you ever deem yourself sufficiently human to seek affection or, as grotesque as is the thought, sexual relations, why would you believe Lestrade would flare like a lighted lamp if he were of a similar mind?”

      “You are comparing my ability to subvert any appearance of abnormality to what might be mustered by the average individual.”

      “Lestrade will not be pleased you termed him ‘average.’  I shall inform him of this at the earliest possible opportunity.”

      “NO!”

      “Your shout rattled your plates.  Will that summon the food faeries to bring you more?”

      “Sherlock… I know not why you turned this conversation in Gregory’s direction, however, you know well I consider him a man of worth.  I would not devote time to his company if I did not.  And Gregory is not germane to this conversation, in any case.  The foundation, if you absolutely must know, is that… though I might want, might meet someone who sparked in me something previously unknown in my life… there would be no recourse to pursue it.  If I were a normal man, the possibility would exist, at least, to explore the potential of seeing the interest grow and be reciprocated.  I have never desired such a thing and, therefore, never felt its lack, but now… today I am gripped with the knowledge that, despite the power that I might wield, some things will always be beyond my reach.  It is not a pleasant thing to contemplate.”

Sherlock had never seen his brother in such a frame of mind and decided that Mycroft’s previous disinterest in anything human was a far easier condition to withstand for innocent bystanders like himself.

      “If… if you are experiencing some middle-aged-inspired physical drive, there are… the city does boast…”

      “If you are suggesting some infernal molly house, I will have your tongue on one of these plates and summon your precious faeries to spirit it off for one of their otherworldly rituals.”

      “That was not quite the thrust of my suggestion, but I have no doubt discreet options exist for certain men to find relief of the burdens that arise from being physical creatures.”

      “I have no need for such a thing.”

That need has passed after a great deal of focused meditation on the most dreary and uninspiring of subjects.  Never, not even as a youth, has his body misbehaved in such a forceful manner.  And, he harbored a terrible worry that such an agitation would arise while he slept and make his rest the _least_ restful night of his existence.  Gregory was a profoundly arousing man and it would be the most grueling challenge of his life to set that aside and enjoy the friendship that the explorer so freely offered.  Because that was something _else_ he wanted.  A companion with whom to share and enrich his days.  It was another thing that had never seemed terribly important, but now, the idea of a ‘friend’ was cast in a different light and he would not lie to himself and say that light was anything but a bright and penetrating one.

      “Your past patterns give weight to that, I do admit, but patterns _can_ change and one would be in error to deny that fact.”

      “You are correct, however, that is not the case here.  It is more a… theoretical… issue with which I am grappling.  I have no intention of taking any steps to make changes to my life.”

      “Beyond those you have already taken, of course.”

      “Pardon?”

      “You have become acquainted with Lestrade, have you not?  That is a tremendous shift in your usual behavior.”

      “Yes, that is true, but it, rather, is a minor one.”

      “Lestrade will not be pleased you view him as ‘minor.’  I shall make this known to him of this as soon as possible.”

Sherlock would forever be the baby brother and, some days, ‘baby’ was truly the descriptor to color the day.

      “Perhaps we should speak of other things, brother dear.  For instance, your infatuation with one Doctor John Watson.”

      “What!  That is ridiculous.  Preposterous.  Farcical.  Nonsensical.”

      “Shall I find for you a thesaurus to research additional adjectives to describe your lies about Doctor Watson?”

A rude gesture that Mycroft was certain Sherlock hadn’t learned from college graced the study and preceded Sherlock’s leap up from the sofa to follow it with a rude noise that brought from Mycroft the first laugh he’d had since Lestrade left for the day.

      “Your wits have obviously withered to the point of dementia and I am now fearful of contracting the condition and residing the rest of my years in a lunatic asylum.”

      “Then do hasten away and save yourself.  I shall try not to gibber too loudly at breakfast and spoil your digestion.”

      “I will be leaving shortly after that for Bart’s, so if you require my signature for papers of commitment, have them prepared and waiting beside my plate.”

Sherlock sauntered out of the study and waited until he had closed the door behind him to stop a moment and spare a grudging thought for his brother.  Mycroft was an insufferable, odious busybody, but… it must be a terrible thing to realize so late in life that one desired something more than what one had and know it could never be.  It must be a terrible thing, indeed.  Perhaps, just perhaps, he should tread a bit lightly around the subject for awhile and give Mycroft no further upset.  Only for self-serving reasons, of course.  An agitated Mycroft was not conducive to a placid home and their home was already at the tipping point of mayhem.  An offer of visiting the tobacconist for some of the cigarettes Mycroft preferred would not be amiss, either.  Nicotine was a very good compound for soothing his brother’s agitations and their current supply was running very low.  There were, for instance, scarcely enough for _him_ to enjoy before turning in for the evening and that was criminally unacceptable.  Did John smoke?  Most men did, but he hadn’t seen the doctor with as much as a speck of tobacco in the duration of their acquaintance.  Well, a small addition to tomorrow’s order would not overstress Mycroft’s bank account.  His brother always urged him to be a more agreeable member of society, so that would be a second gift Mycroft could enjoy to bolster his spirits.

And John would, of course, admire his doting concern…

__________

Once the study door was closed, Mycroft leaned forward and, elbows on his desk, held his head in his hands.  Infatuated… that was the proper word, though it was better applied to him than his brother.  It was as if a curtain had been drawn back and revealed a part of himself previously hidden from view.  An old, stodgy infatuated man…  It was not the explorer’s fault that he had awakened such feelings, of course.  That he had quickened something that had never before seen the slightest bit of life.  It was not, at all, on Gregory’s shoulders to help quiet these stormy waters.  It was from his own inner strength that he must turn and learn to manage his response to Gregory’s charms.  The man deserved no less.  And, that learning would have to come on the swiftest of wings for soon he would host Gregory once again and there could be no visible sign of his desires.  Though the man would perform an unshirted cleansing within these walls and that was… oh bother.  Was it growing hot in here?  Perhaps a small tamping of the fire was in order.  Or a bit more beef.  His intimate constitution seemed to respond well to something hearty when it was being bothersome… 


	12. Chapter 12

      “Has he become enchanted by some form of disgruntled spirit?”

Since their ‘conversation,’ Mycroft had been positively beastly and it was all that Sherlock could do to avoid his brother’s presence so his own mood was not permanently soured.

      “Be nice to your brother, Sherlock.  He’s… I’m sure he’s got a lot on his mind.”

      “He has a lot on his arse, you mean, which is why his desk chair has become bowed in the middle and creaks perilously when he tortures it with his immeasurable bulk.  And I mean that literally.  His bulk is so vast it cannot be measured by any tool currently known to science.”

      “That is _enough_ , you evil thing.  Mr. Holmes might have been a little… odd… today, and… yesterday, good heavens but he was out of sorts yesterday, but… he’s a busy man.  An important and busy man and maybe, now and then, it gets the better of him and he gets a bit… odd, but that oddness is part of who he is and you have no cause to be mean-spirited about it.”

      “You said you hoped he’d slip down the stairs and break his silly neck just last evening, if I remember correctly.”

      “The man glowered at me!  All I did was make the slightest mention of the fact that there was a bit of crumb on his lapel!  He should have thanked me before…well, I was going to say before he went out in public, but HA!  And, you know I didn’t mean that.  We couldn’t keep his death a secret forever and then where would I be?  I’m too old to go out and find another position. Especially one as proper and… non-overtaxing… as this one.”

Though, heavens knew the boy had a point.  Mr. Holmes had been his most taciturn and that absolutely would not do since Mr. Lestrade would be arriving soon.  Doubtless the explorer had encountered his share of ill-tempered beasts in those foreign lands he trampled through, but there were certainly none of Mr. Holmes’s caliber.  He even snorted like an old boar!  Something had him agitated and that was not the frame of mind to be in when one’s friend came for a visit.  Not that the old boar would admit the roguish explorer _was_ a friend, since he was, as mentioned, an old boar, but one day he would.  Nobody could be that stubborn and hard-hearted.  And nobody, absolutely nobody, could resist that devil’s charms for very long.  Mrs. Turner had very real heart palpitations meeting Mr. Lestrade and nearly fainted dead away when he kissed her hand!  And, if there was anyone as matronly and spinsterish as Mrs. Turner, it was certainly Mr. Holmes…

      “At least Lestrade will be here to distract him from whatever has his colon twisted into a knot.  The ridiculous adventurer has little use in this world, but, today, he might demonstrate some small benefit to humanity.”

      “Ooh, you’re in a right mood, aren’t you?  Must be one of those worms you hear about that’d got both you and your brother with twisted colons.  I’ll send a message to Mr. Holmes’s physician and have him send over a tonic or something to help flush the silly thing right out of you both.”

      “At least a parasite would have some scientific interest, unlike other pestiferous creatures.  Such as explorers.”

      “What did you want that he said you couldn’t have?”

      “The smallest of things!  He is cordial with those who are bringing ruin on the British Museum and I must have unlimited access to their collections before the edifice is nothing but rubble and pigeon droppings!”

      “They’d not have a single thing left in there if you had a go at it!  There’s a reason your brother keeps refusing to bring you onto any of the committees or boards or whatnot he’s on.  That’s what I would term ‘bringing ruin’… you’re a thunderstorm in fine trousers, Sherlock Holmes, and London is a much safer place when there’s someone alive to tell you no now and again.  Mr. Lestrade is a wise man to already see that.  Another reason he’s a good fit for your brother.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and found himself glaring at someone who was perfectly capable of glaring right back.

      “What do you mean by that?”

      “What do you think?”

Damn Mrs. Hudson and her elderly female inscrutability! 

      “If I was to attempt to deduce the workings of your disordered and diminished mind, I would surely descend into insentience.”

      “That’s a lot of words to say you have no idea, but desperately wish you did.”

Intolerable!

      “Confess!”

      “I ate the last of your brother’s favorite orange marmalade and blamed it on you.”

      “That is not what I meant!  And you are a _dastardly_ woman as he named me a glutton because of it, when the term can, with the obviousness of a pickle in a trifle, only be bestowed upon him!”

      “It was good, too.”

Sherlock’s stamping of his feet made the housekeeper sorely wish she’d been with the family when he was a tot.  What a tremendous amount of fun that must have been….

      “Tell me about Mycroft and Lestrade!”

      “What about them?  I’m certain I don’t know anything and I’d not be telling tales even if I did.  Ladies don’t do that sort of thing.  At least, not unless there’s gin involved.”

      “Balderdash!  You know… as much as it pains me to admit it, if there is a person under this roof with more knowledge of the _goings on_ under this roof as me, it is you.  If you know something…”

      “I know a dashed bit more than you, boy, and don’t you ever forget it.  Besides… what could there be to know?  Mr. Holmes and Mr. Lestrade are two fine gentlemen, _upstanding_ gentlemen, and… well, it’s good, don’t you think?  Two respectable, hard-working gentlemen meeting someone they can share a bit of time with?  Have a nice chat and relax of an evening.  Just what one would hope for two respectable, upstanding, proper  gentlemen.”

If his former suspicions were not screaming in his face like a deranged banshee, then Sherlock feared heartily for his sanity.

      “Your speech is riddled with the most overripe of insinuations.”

      “Can’t say I know a thing about that.  What I _do_ know is your poor brother could do with someone claim as a friend.  A man at the same time of life, someone interesting who actually finds Mr. Holmes interesting, too… _you_ should know how difficult it would be for your brother to find someone like that and I think you’d be happy he did.”

The finger pointed at his heart and the knowing nod in his direction executed the last of Sherlock’s hopes that his housekeeper lived blissfully ignorant of certain… matters of personal business and… leanings.  The death of his hopes would not, however, be announced to the woman with the smugly triumphant gleam in her eye.

      “Considering I have lived with the whale for near the entirety of my years, yes, I do consider myself an expert on his social awkwardness and, further, his contentment with that fact.”

Mrs. Hudson’s rude noise was one Sherlock committed to memory to use at an appropriate occasion.

      “No one’s content with that.  Complacent, maybe.  Resigned, perhaps.  And, I’ll grant, a _little_ content if the rest of the world is stupid compared to them.  But, everyone wants someone who thinks they’re different and I mean that in a positive way.  Special, that’s the word.  Someone you can be honest with, tell your troubles, too, and know they won’t laugh or use them against you.  A body who is glad to see you and seeks you out when they want a bit of happiness in their day.  I’ll wager your brother’s never had someone like that in his life and does my heart good to hear them talking and laughing…  And, being the good brother you are, or, at least, the brother who doesn’t want to see his allowance vanish and his shirts go unwashed for the next few years, I’m certain you have no intention of making any trouble that might hurt Mr. Holmes’s chances of keeping his new friend.  Correct?”

      “Oh, am I part of the conversation again?”

But, Sherlock’s diffident tone didn’t fool Mrs. Hudson for a second and the almost invisibly-quick cut of his eyes towards his brother’s study let her know her message had been heard loud and clear.  Whether the boy was loud and clear about the surface meaning or the one that went deeper, she wasn’t quite sure, but this was good enough for now.  Sherlock could be such a nuisance when he decided to make mischief and Mr. Holmes certainly didn’t need mischief to scare him away from what could be the best thing to come along for him in… ever.

      “That you are.”

      “Then I proclaim your oration to be its usual meaningless and time-consuming blather and wash it immediately from my mind.”

      “Glad we understand each other.  Now, are you going to meet your Doctor Watson or are you spending the day at home?”

      “John and I have a full research schedule today and lounging about here will not see that work accomplished.  If Mycroft would lessen his dark-ages prohibitions against the use of certain experimental procedures within these dreary walls, I could conduct the tests and remain at home, which would be preferable because the availability of tea at Bart’s is sporadic and John’s ability to function positively correlates with a steady supply of the liquid.  However, he is also fond of beer and that is more easily had near Bart’s, so I suppose the scales are somewhat evenly balanced.”

Not one bleat about ‘your Doctor Watson’ either.  That was an interesting thing, if a person had a care for things like that, of course. Which she _did_ , so this definitely deserved a little stop in cellar for a sip or two of the port Mr. Holmes didn’t particularly enjoy, but was just lovely to her taste so the monthly deliveries always had a few bottles added in he didn’t need to be bothered to know about.

      “That’s nice.  I’m certain we’ll all be thankful for whatever important things you find out about all that poison and such.”

      “If I am not personally rewarded by Queen Victoria, I will be most surprised.”

      “Always good to have ambition.  Now, be off with you.  Mr. Lestrade is going to be here soon and he’s going to have enough on his hands with your brother and his… oddness.”

      “Since that is Mycroft’s natural state of being, Lestrade should become used to the situation if he hopes to remain in my brother’s company for any extended period of time.”

      “I suspect a man like Mr. Lestrade prefers to keep company with those who have a bit of uniqueness about them, actually.  None of those wealthy types you can’t tell one from the other unless they tell you their name.”

      “Lestrade is _gleeful_ for their attention.  He flatters and performs the most appalling verbal stroking of their egos while his hands deftly pick their overflowing pockets.”

      “It’s good for a man to have a talent.  Why are you still standing there?  I’m certain Doctor Watson is already starting your work and you know how that rumbles your sensibilities.”

Sherlock made to reply, but his brain already started to imagine John setting up their experiment and without his meticulous instructions, the end product would surely be a debacle.

      “Very well.  I expect a report on Mycroft and Lestrade’s interactions when I return.”

      “I’ll write down anything I think you’ll find interesting.  Or amusing.  Or make your colon all quivery.”

      “That is sufficient.”

With his pronouncement made, Sherlock checked that his lunch funds were in his pocket, reached for his hat, changed his mind and made Mrs. Hudson’s rude noise at the hat instead, leaving  the grinning housekeeper in his wake.  Said housekeeper then heaved a large sigh of relief that one of the house’s two most difficult males was out of her hair and turned attention towards the other.  Who, worryingly, hadn’t taken a fortnight to dress himself today or peeked once out of his mole hole to see if Mr. Lestrade had arrived.  Now was not the time to start overthinking things and getting a case of chilled toes.  Not when there was a strapping, handsome man on hand who’d be more than happy to warm up those toes in the most delightful manner imaginable…

__________

      “See!  Not at all late, so you can’t scold me.”

Not that Lestrade thought promptness would stop the housekeeper if she was in a scolding mood, but it earned him the expected wagging of her finger and flatteringly-girlish grin.

      “You’re a handful of nonsense, Mr. Lestrade and I’ve already got my hands full with nonsense in this house, thank you very much.”

      “Mine’s more charming, though.”

      “What an arrogant thing you are.”

      “Charmingly arrogant, if I do say so myself.”

Mrs. Hudson’s giggle was as girlish as her grin and Lestrade adored every bit of it.

      “You would, at that.  And what is that I see in your hand?  I _do_ recognize that box, you know.”

      “Should that earn you a prize?”

      “Yes, I think it should.”

Something Lestrade was happy to bestow, opening the box of sweets and drawing out a particularly succulent and heavy piece of chocolate with rich cream and dropped it into her outstretched palm.

      “What a good lad you are.  And a smart one, too.  Or lucky.  Or both.  Mr. Holmes has been in a dreadful humor and this is going to give him a much needed boost to his mood.”

Lestrade’s mission now increased exponentially in importance.  His Mycroft was out of sorts?  No, that wouldn’t do.  That wouldn’t do at all.

      “What happened?”

      “Maybe you can fathom it out, for I’ve given up trying.  Maybe it’s the weather.  Clear skies and less nip in the air… both Mr. Holmes tend to prefer things a tad more gloomy and can have a bad turn when the rest of us are thanking our lucky stars.”

      “Well, I’ll do my best.  And, if I put my back into things, I should have the conservatory in proper shape by nightfall.  That should brighten his spirits.”

      “I’m sure it will.  Now, be off with you and tell His Majesty you’re here.  See what you can do to tease a smile out him and I’ll see you’ve got lamb for lunch.”

      “I do work best with incentives and lamb is a good one.  Here I go…”

Watching the explorer, dressed in his the sort of garments that an explorer would surely wear on one of their expeditions and which would punch Mr. Holmes right in the… well, in a place that wasn’t proper for a lady to mention, but that didn’t change the fact that the punch _would_ occur and wouldn’t that be a pleasant thing for her employer to enjoy and set his day on a better course.  Unless he came over all prissy, in which case he would flap and flutter and have a case of the vapors and sink further into his peevishness.  Definitely time for some port… today could be a very long day…

__________

      “There’s a man with a lot on his mind.”

Mycroft drew in an inner deep breath of strength and raised his eyes from his papers to look at the newly arrived Lestrade.

      “Quite.”

Now it was Lestrade drawing in an inner deep breath of strength because, seeing Mycroft full in the face, he was suddenly having to battle grabbing the man by the hand, dragging him off to bed, doing what it took to sap the last remnants of the man’s flagging energies, then cozy up to him to ensure his Mycroft slept long and soundly.  Mrs. Hudson hadn’t been joshing, had she…

      “If it were anyone else, I’d worry, but I know you’re happy when your brain’s got hold of a puzzle or problem, so I’d say a celebration is in order.”

Holding up his cargo so Mycroft could clearly see the familiar shade of the box in his hand, Lestrade smiled his widest and most seductive smile.  Neither of which seemed to make a dent in the heaviness of Mycroft’s expression.

      “See?  Thought we’d enjoy a little bit of a chat before I got started and what goes better with a chat that something delicious on the tongue?”

HELL AND DAMNATION, GREGORY!  CAN YOU NOT SEE I AM ENDEAVORING TO WARD OFF YOUR LACIVIOUS WITCHERY!

      “There is merit to that viewpoint, I suppose.”

      “More than merit.  Wisdom, I’d say.  Get to be our age, you understand what’s really important in this life.  The small pleasures sit tiptop on the list, don’t you think?  Well, maybe a few notches down from some _larger_ pleasures, but they’re definitely among the highest ranked.”

How could one man, one human-born man, infuse every sentence with the most sexually misinterpretable utterances?  It was unholy and decidedly unfair.  He had spent nearly every moment since he last saw Gregory working to control his body and mind, armor it for this next assault and it was unraveling like a piece of linen being pecked apart by chickens.  And he was porting sweets… villainous despoiler…

      “Perhaps you are correct.”

      “I know I am.  So here… you choose what stirs your passions and we’ll go forward from there.”

Grinning as innocently as he could, Lestrade presented the box to Mycroft and flipped open the top, displaying the selection which had been specifically chosen to include the very favorites of one of the shop’s most appreciated customers.  For his part, Mycroft struggled not to strangle the handsome demon tempting him with the widest possible assortment of sins of the flesh.

      “I… I do not know if I have a taste for sweets at this early hour.”

If Mycroft lied any more poorly a toddler could call him out and Lestrade decided a bit of persuasion was in order.

      “Part of the joy of being an adult is that you don’t have to wait for any particular time to enjoy your wants.  Any time of day is perfectly acceptable for a taste of whisky or a nice sweet to nibble or… well, or anything else your heart might desire.”

Sex in the morning would be fantastic with Mycroft.  Wake from a sound sleep, then turn all that fresh energy into blood-boiling pleasure.  There could be no better way to start the day.  None at all.  Which certainly could not be what Mr. Holmes was thinking about right now because he wasn’t smiling or panting or beckoning him over for a little sit-on-the-lap snuggle…

      “One could also argue that it is the mark of adulthood that one recognizes the truth that for everything there is a proper time and place.”

Thoughts definitely not on the fun and filthy side of the line.  Propriety was such a pain in the arse…

      “Well, if you’re a boring and stuffy adult, then yes.  And, maybe that’s good for the children to learn so they don’t become some form of ruffian, but watch…”

Lestrade picked up a piece of chocolate and gave it a quick lap with his tongue, noting the slight widening of Mycroft’s eyes and the way they followed each and every bit of his tongue’s motion.

      “Oh, that’s good.  That’s very good.  Perfect to give a bit of a lick.”

      “I…one… one does not lick chocolate, Gregory.”

      “Why not?  Remember what I said about being an adult?  You can lick chocolate if you want to.  You can lick _anything_ you want, as a matter of fact.  Give it a good swirly lick and savor the flavor.”

And the swirliest of licks was what Lestrade’s chocolate was given while Lestrade savored the look on Mycroft’s face, as well as the taste of fine chocolate.

      “See?  Positively delightful.  You can nibble too, if you like.  Gently, though.  Savoring is all about gentleness.”

      “Is… is it?”

      “Oh yes.  Of course, sometimes you don’t want that.  You just want to have your fun in a hard, fast go, but not all the time.  A little licking, bit of nibbling… oh, this one’s perfect to suck, too.  Lovely thing to take into my mouth, truly lovely.  Yes, that’s the stuff.  Just perfect…”

Lestrade was not at all ready for Mycroft to bolt upwards from his desk and drag him by the collar to the study door.

      “I have no time for your tomfoolery, Gregory Lestrade.  I believe you have work to do?  Please attend to it with utmost alacrity.”

With a hefty shove, Lestrade found himself standing outside the study, his confusion interrupted only by the quick reopening of the study door and the snatching of the box of sweets out of his hand before the door closed again with an impressive slam.  After a few dazed moments, the explorer began to grin, then grin wider and found himself waltzing an imaginary Mycroft towards the conservatory.  If that wasn’t a man undone by lust, then his name was not Greg Lestrade.  Which it was, so well done him.  That wasn’t quite the intention of his little play with the chocolate, but… yes, well done him.  Now, let his handsome Holmes cool for awhile before another peek into the study.  Or maybe Mycroft would come and peek at him first.  Either way, today was off to a smashing start…

__________

AAAARRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!!!  What hounds of hell possessed the ridiculous man!  How… how was he supposed to maintain collegial distance and affable poise with… tongue!  It was absolutely out of bounds.  Completely outside the allowances of propriety, even for an explorer!  Did he believe himself in some form of illicit pantomime? Had he any clue how… bawdy were his actions?

No, no he surely did not.  Gregory was a jackanapes, apparently, but he could not be blamed for what that japery inspired in others.

Yes, _yes_ he could!  The man was supremely juvenile and that deserved a full measure of censure.  The sheer, staggering erotic beauty of his behaviors would not spare him a tongue lashing.  NO!  No tongue-based imagery.  Any reference to or discussion of tongues was hereby forbidden within this house.  Oh, this was a disaster.  He had tried, tried so very hard to regain control of his imaginings… of his physical and mental responses and all was for naught.  Scarcely a mote of time in Gregory’s presence and he was entranced.  He, Mycroft Holmes, who was known for having a heart and soul formed from ice, for being a man whose body was simply a tangible support for his mind… that was well and truly blasted to Hades!

At least for one person.  One unique and… spectacular person.  Who was impertinent, scandalous, intelligent, humorous, kind-hearted, courageous, hard-working, insightful… DAMNATION!  Already his infatuation was soaring.  Blackguard.  Gregory Lestrade was an unrepentant and demonstrable blackguard and the devil could take him at his earliest convenience.  He _did_ have exquisite taste in sweets, though.  Utterly exquisite, in fact.  And how lucky that there were so many remaining in the package.  For now.

__________

      “Oooh, look at this.  I haven’t seen this room look so lovely in ages.  You’re a magician, Mr. Lestrade.  An absolute and genuine magician.”

Mrs. Hudson set down the luncheon tray and beamed happily as she looked around the room which was transformed from the dusty, neglected space it had been to one that was only a few hours away from being a showplace.  If Mr. Holmes was the sort to have parties, it would be a marvelous room for a fine party with music and ladies in fine gowns, but… it would be a marvelous room, too, for a couple to enjoy.  One potential half of which was grinning like a saucy little urchin and eating up her praise with a soup ladle.

      “Isn’t it fantastic?  The fellow who designed this space was a genius.  It’s a big room, but it looks _enormous_ when it’s in order.  And those majestic windows… sweeping upwards, drawing your eye to the sky.  You’ll have to have a boy climb up there now and again and give the glass a bit of a polish, but… it’s a work of beauty, that’s for certain.  Do you… Mycroft will like it, do you think?  I’d hate to see the old thing being ignored again.”

Look at you, Mr. Explorer, worried that the man you have your eye on won’t be happy with your gift.  In his present mood, though, it’s actually a valid concern… Mr. Holmes was even grumpier now than he was this morning!  Practically tore the mail in half snatching it away, hadn’t he?  Definitely a worm in his belly… or a fire in his… well, that part of him still wouldn’t be mentioned, even mentally, but something had to break soon and lord help them all if Mr. Lestrade wasn’t there to help contain the explosion.

      “I think he’ll adore it.  The man won’t admit that even he needs a moment to catch his breath now and then and what better place to get a good lungful of fresh air?  And where in creation did you find all of these plants!  You’ll have to tell me what to do to tend them because I’ve not a clue about what they need for water or… whatnot.”

      “Aren’t they brilliant!  I did a bit of begging and a few people owed me a favor or two…”

And his bank account took care of the rest, which wasn’t horrendously draining, fortunately.  Still had to have funds set aside for more sweets and a nice evening out.  Courting wasn’t an inexpensive venture, but it was worth every penny…

      “… and I have to say I’m satisfied with the outcome.  They’re not terribly difficult to tend, either.  I asked a lot of questions and I can write down for you what I learned.  I promise it won’t add much work to your day.”

Now, there was a very bright lad.  A very bright lad, indeed…

      “That’s sweet of you thinking of a fragile old woman.”

The giggling after that sentence had both feminine and masculine tones and lasted until a question popped up in Lestrade’s mind and he realized he had the perfect person here to answer it.

      “Listen to you being silly… but, speaking of silly… has Mycroft’s mood improved any?  He was definitely not his usual self this morning.  Not a trace of a smile to be seen!  Even the smile when he doesn’t smile, but his eyes light up and it’s really just the same.”

Truth or lie?  Oh, better prepare the boy so he could have a plan of attack.

      “He’s still got a growl in his words, I won’t lie about that.  But, everyone catches the gloom now and again, so I wouldn’t read too much into it.  I did notice that he had that box from the confectioner on his desk, though.  Right next to his fingers and I’m more than a tad certain he’s been indulging.  So, you can take heart that your kindness is helping him manage whatever trouble is on his mind.”

That’s right, Mr. Lestrade… smile smugly at that thought and start thinking of what else you can do to bring that old boar out of his mood.

      “That’s good… not that he’s still out of sorts, but that he’s getting some enjoyment out his sweets.  Maybe by the time I’m finished in here, there will be a few left for us to share with a nice mouthful of brandy or whisky.”

      “That does sound heavenly.  Well, I’ll be off and let you enjoy your meal.  Let me know when you want to tidy yourself and I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms.  Not that any of the rooms have ever seen a guest, except the exalted Mrs. Holmes, but I don’t really know what else to call them.”

And with that reminder that Mycroft absolutely needed some human companionship in his life, Mrs. Hudson left the conservatory and Lestrade took the time to have a seat and take advantage of the rather large tray he’d been delivered.  He’d have to keep a weather eye on this sort of thing, though.  And sweets.  Life in London wasn’t the physical thing it was when he was on expedition and… well, when Mycroft first got a look at his body, he wanted it to be the best look possible.  Unlike Mr. Holmes, he didn’t wear pounds like a glorious beast and was already getting a bit soft around the middle.  But he was working hard today, so this substantial lunch was simply perfect.  And Mycroft’s cook was absolutely amazing, too.  How many hours was it until dinner?

__________

 Composed.  He was composed, controlled… nothing could perturb him.  He was as calm as a lake on a completely windless day.  Except for the need to collect the papers he had left in his bedroom after he spent the wee hours of the night reading them in bed, but, not even this inconvenience could mar the perfection of his placidity.  He was… was that humming?

Mycroft stopped on the landing of the stairs and turned his head this way and that to pinpoint the direction of the melodic sound softly dancing through the air and began to move towards it source before his mind actively acknowledged the fact.  It was only when he realized where he was that every bit of his controlled, composed, unperturbed, placid self went shrieking into the night to leave behind the quaking sack of nerves that knew, without question, what the soft humming and sound of splashing water signified.

Gregory was unclothed.  His bare skin was exposed and being… stroked with a soft flannel.  Was there no end to the man’s debauchery?

      “Yes?”

Eep!  What was his hand doing on the doorknob?  Was it bewitched?  Given an incalculably powerful sorcerer hummed on the other side of the door, the possibility must be given the most serious consideration.

      “I… it is only me.  Mycroft!  It is… I was simply seeking to ascertain if there was anything you required for your… ablutions.”

Dear Mycroft, you still cannot lie.  Credit for trying, though.  And for being adorable when you do.

      “That’s very nice of you, Mycroft, but I think I have what I need.  I’m almost finished, though, if you’d like to come in and chat.”

NO!

      “Dear heavens, Gregory… such… such a thing is in no manner proper.”

Poor socially ignorant me.  I make so many silly mistakes, Mr. Holmes, but do continue to fluster so wonderfully when I do.

      “Oh, isn’t it?  I’ll make note of that for future reference.  I admit I lose track of things like that when I’m away, so I have to freshen up the social skills every time I return to London.  That’s alright, then.  You can wait for me there and then I’ll take you to see the conservatory.  I hope you didn’t peek in and spoil the surprise.”

Something that had vexed Lestrade mightily, but he’d born the lack of contact with Mycroft as stoically as he could.  Why couldn’t the man have one little peek?  He’d been sweating and even unbuttoned a few extra buttons of his shirt just in case!

      “No, I have kept out of sight of the conservatory so as not to spoil the grand unveiling.”

      “Perfect!  And grand is the truth of it, too.”

      “I am most anxious to see it.”

And most anxious to see… dash it all.  I am also most anxious to see _you_.  Have you no idea, Gregory Lestrade, the scale of the struggle I endured keeping myself from the conservatory!  It was such that Atlas himself would have buckled at the knees!

      “Then this is going to be a perfect little treat.  Did you have your dinner yet?  Seeing the conservatory can hold awhile if the kitchen is waiting on you.”

      “I _have_ dined, actually.  Mrs. Hudson brings a tray when I am working.  Are… I feel most remiss not verifying earlier that you were being provided with food and drink, but you were properly fed today, were you not?”

Lestrade patted his still shapely stomach and smiled broadly.

      “I certainly was.  Two large meals and a few nibbles in between with my tea.  Kept my energy and my spirits high for the entire day.  Mrs. Hudson is very good about checking that I’m not lying on the floor dead from starvation or thirst.  And that I haven’t been putting naughty paintings on the walls or setting gambling tables in place.”

      “Yes, I am certain that was the most pressing worry of her day.”

      “It should have been.  I don’t mind a spot of cards in the evening and who doesn’t like gazing at something lovely when they’re having an evening of entertainment.”

      “I believe there are more beautiful subjects in this world to render on canvas than… naughtiness.”

      “Oh, I don’t know about that.  It depends on who is being naughty and who they’re being naughty to.  I can imagine some very interesting subjects for that particular posing that I could look at all night and not get bored for a second.”

A painting of Mycroft, naked as a cherub, or draped with those flowing robes and cloths that some of the painters preferred… oh yes, that would transcend the definition of beautiful.  He could be in the painting, too, _doing_ the naughty things if the artist could properly capture the enraptured look on Mycroft’s face as he…

      “Gregory Lestrade… you are certainly a man with… ribald tastes.”

Especially if you knew, Mr. Holmes, what was just running through this head of mine…

      “True.  But, as long as I’m not out on the streets making a show of my ribaldry, what’s the harm?”

None, however… my humors are already stirred like a cake batter and cannot withstand any further agitation!

      “One could argue that one’s comportment in their home should still align with the expectations of society.”

      “One could argue that’s shit, too.”

      “GREGORY!”

      “Oops.  Pardon, mum.  I’ll try and be more genteel.”

Mycroft stopped a moment to mop his brow and refused to spare a thought as to why a rough-tongued Gregory Lestrade was particularly arousing, when the civil-tongued version was already pressing his limits of control.  The man was utterly treacherous.

      “Do make an effort as I cannot guarantee when gentle female ears might be in the vicinity.”

      “Alright, you do have a point.  I couldn’t forgive myself if I corrupted Mrs. Hudson.”

Success!  Mycroft’s lovely rumbly laughter… how amazing that would be to hear, low and breathy, right next to his ear…

      “You are a rascal, Gregory.”

      “I try.  And that should be me done.  Just grab my shirt…”

Which Gregory would don with an aching and seductive slowness because he was a treacherous villain.  There was no doubt, too, that he did the same when he divested himself of the soiled garment.  Using it, perhaps, to wipe away the sweat that glistened on his chest, pressing it to his nose to breathe in his rich, musky scent.  There was no end to the man’s evil.  None at all.

      “And here I am!”

Something which startled Mycroft since he was still lost in his mental, though evil, fantasy.

      “Ah.  Yes.  Yes, you are.  Here, that is.”

And appearing as a vision of manliness.  With…

      “Have you shaved?”

      “I did at that.  Mrs. Hudson found me a razor and I had a quick go at the stubble before I began washing.  Didn’t want to offend you with a stubbly face, along with my ribaldry and gambling.”

      “I… I see.  Though you did not have to go through such trouble at this time of evening.”

      “It wasn’t a bother.  I have a couple of days work to do at the RGS and I won’t see a razor for either of them, so this will keep my bristles at bay a bit.  My beard doesn’t come in nearly as handsome as yours, so I try to tame the beast whenever I’m able.”

How dare you try and fail, you ungrateful heart!  Are you feeble?  One small, blissfully treasured compliment and you attempt to send me to an early grave.  Foul thing.  In league with the foul fellow to whom I’m speaking, most likely…

      “Well, that is… that is kind of you to say.  Not that your own beard is not to your liking, but that…”

Drat.  Perhaps a failed heart was a kinder death.

      “I understood what you meant.  And I’m sincere in that, too.  You do sport a fine bit of facial hair, Mr. Holmes.  I know many a man who’d be shamefully envious of it, in fact.”

No!  Do not preen.  Preening is for peacocks that is certainly not you.  Sherlock preened, for heaven’s sake and that is not a comparison anyone would find pleasing.

      “Thank you, Gregory.  I do try to manage it acceptably.  Now, shall we?”

Before some new blather falls from my lips and I fall further away from the model of the dignified and mature man I am striving to present.

      “Absolutely.  Though…  you walk slowly and let me have a chance to give things a quick look before you see it.  I’ll let you know when you can come in.”

And, with that, Lestrade darted down the stairs and Mycroft breathed a relieved sigh at the extra moments to bring his being again under his yoke.  If this was the impact made on all who found themselves in the claws of an infatuation, it was truly remarkable that there was any form of business or government alive on this Earth.  What a potent feeling… so enragingly distracting, but… just as powerfully stimulating.  It would pass, though.  It would age, mellow with time, and he would be able to enjoy Gregory’s companionship without the inhumanly strong pull of other emotions to muddy the waters.  Time… it was simply a matter of time.  And he had all the time in the world…

__________

      “Gregory?”

      “One moment.  Almost done.”

Done?

      “Done?”

      “You’ll see.  Actually, you can probably already see a bit since the glass is frosted…”

Something which Mycroft just now realized and the breath he drew in scarcely prepared him for the sight as Lestrade opened the doors into the candle-filled room.

      “Behold!  Your conservatory, My Lord.  It’s a bit of a shame to see it first at night, but the candles offer their own beauty, don’t you think?”

Beauty… such a paltry word for what he was seeing.  The room was unbelievable… it had never looked so alive, so unspeakably elegant, yet welcoming.  The plants… they were _everywhere_ and perfect to bring the joyful hand of Nature into his somewhat dour house.  And all of it bathed in the warm glow of candlelight… as was the man standing at its center, looking like an earthbound ancient god whose smile burned as brightly as any flame.

      “Well?”

      “I… truly, I am speechless, Gregory.  I had no idea… did not conceive of _anything_ of this magnitude.  It is indescribable… how did you accomplish this?”

      “Hard work, a good eye for color and form, some solid advice… I’m a deft hand at solving problems, if I do say so myself, and this problem was especially appealing.  Will this be alright for you?  To relax in, I mean.”

Comfortable chairs, a fireplace when the winter’s chill bit hard into the house, the warmth of the sun when it was high in the sky… oh yes, he could relax here and the admission of that was more than a bit surprising.

      “Unquestionably.  By habit, I tend to darker spaces, but… there is something about the atmosphere of this place that appeals mightily.  This was not what I inherited when I purchased the property, let me be very clear about that.  If it had been, the room might never have fallen into neglect.  You are… you have given it life, Gregory, and this is something for which you should be incredibly proud.”

Lestrade was _very_ proud, in point of fact, but for the reason that Mycroft’s eyes were alight with wonder and amazement and that was the best gift _he_ could be given.  This was exactly what he had hoped for and he was getting it by the barrel.

      “Thanks!  I’m just happy you like it.  Come in, though, and take a better look around.  Anything you want changed, just tell me.  It won’t be difficult, so don’t be polite and stay silent if you’d like something changed.”

Changed?  Not a thing about the room would be changed.  It was exquisite, with the marble polished to a gleam, as was the wood and the glass.  The furnishings, the foliage, the comforting scent of earth in the air, mixed with the subtle perfume of greenery and the large vase of flowers sitting on a side table… it was magnificent.  As was the man walking at his side, who was positively glowing with satisfaction.

      “I believe it is highly agreeable as it stands, without a single change required to enhance its appearance or functionality.”

      “Well done me, then.  And I’m thrilled you like it, Mycroft.  I’d hoped… I’d really hoped this would be something you would approve of.  I know I rather pushed it on you and that was a tad overbearing of me, but… I truly believed this would be a good thing for you and the thought of giving you something nice… well, there you have it.”

That was a bit more… ardent… than he’d planned.  And wasn’t that a bit of a quirk in Mr. Holmes’s eyebrow, probably wondering what he was going on about.  That massive brain was working, so smile and dazzle him away from any unnecessary thinking.

      “I… see.”

That smile.  Full of cheek and a knowing glint in his eye… oh no.  No… but it _had_ to be.  That… that was a _teasing_ smile.  A _knowing_ glint!  This was ruinous!  How did… how could Gregory know?  How did he learn?  What did he see?  How could this be salvaged?

      “Mycroft?”

How could he preserve their friendship now that Gregory knew about… him?  How?  How could it be done?  It _had_ to be done, but…

      “Mycroft?”

Time… time to think.  Time to plan and think and prepare a speech or statement or agreement or…

      “Mycroft!  What… no!”

For the second time in one day, Lestrade found himself being evicted from a room by Mr. Mycroft Holmes, but, this time, he braced himself against the door frame of the conservatory, though it took a rather indecent bit of spread eagling to accomplish the task, and fought back against his evictor.

      “I’m sorry, Gregory, but I have just remembered an important…”

      “Stop pushing me, you bastard!”

      “Language!”

The tussle continued, much to Mycroft’s distress, since he couldn’t seem, this one blasted time, to use his weight to his advantage.  The man was as unmovable as a mountain! 

      “Stop pushing me and talk to me!”

      “I am previously committed!”

      “You lie for shit!”

      “Stop struggling!”

      “Stop pushing!”

Mrs. Hudson wisely kept out of sight, having raced to find out what the fracas was about, but made a wager with herself that this would end better than worse, if the two idiots would just let their hearts do the talking and use their mouths for something far more pleasant than yelling.  What passionate romance didn’t start with a proper row?  That’s how it happened in the stories, at least…

      “I’m not leaving until you talk to me!”

      “I believe you will!”

Mycroft gave one final heave and nearly dislodged Lestrade, who, at the last moment released his grip on the door frame and leapt to the side, allowing Mycroft to stumble past him.  Darting back into the conservatory, the explorer waited until the expected chase began and took advantage of his fleeter feet to gain sufficient distance to allow him time to close the conservatory doors and use the key he’d pocketed to lock them.

      “HA!  Now, you lunatic… we are going to have a little talk about what’s climbed up your arse!”

      “How dare you!”

      “What has gotten into you, Mycroft?  Tell me!  I can’t… you’re not suddenly busy and you’re not suddenly committed… just talk to me.  Please… something bad jumped into your head and… just tell me what it is so I can help you with it.”

Mycroft’s frustrated, despairing snort sent a cold shock up Lestrade’s spine and he waited, motionless, for Mycroft to pull himself together enough to speak.

      “When did you discover me, Gregory?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “You know very well what I mean!”

      “No, I don’t.  I’m not joshing or being my, well, my usual self, Mycroft.  I am very serious about this and I do _not_ know what is in your head.  I want to, though, so just tell me plainly.”

Mycroft swallowed hard and had to admit there was nothing of the cocky, cheeky explorer in the man he was facing.

      “Very well… when did you know my… _nature_?”

Lestrade was about to ask, again, what Mycroft was on about, but a small light clicked on in his head and all the puzzle pieces quickly began to fall into place.

      “Oh.  Oh… I see.  Ok, then… from the first moment I saw you.  Well, perhaps not the very first moment, but not more than a few afterwards.”

Mycroft gaped and hoped he didn’t look like the startled goose he felt very much like at that instant.

      “What?  What do you… how?”

      “You were looking at me with… with stars in your eyes, if I’m honest.”

      “I… oh dear.  Oh no… That is… how, Gregory?  How could you…”

      “How could I what?”

      “Pursue my friendship!  How could you… knowing that, _seeing_ that… how could you continue to seek my company?  Were you… is this a game of some form?  It does not feel that way but… in no manner could you… natural, normal men do not… how, Gregory?  Please… I do not… I cannot comprehend…”

Lestrade took a very deep breath and carefully approached the rapidly dissolving Mycroft, standing close and looking him directly in the eye.

      “Because I _liked_ that you looked at me that way.”

      “W..what?”

      “I liked it.  Just as I like looking at _you_.  So handsome, so unbelievably handsome.  I pursued you because I thought you were interesting and intelligent and funny and so wonderfully gorgeous and I’d never seen another man like you.  And, yes… I consider myself a natural, normal man, but some natural, normal men don’t see anything wrong with finding another man appealing.  And I do find you appealing, Mycroft.  More than that, really… I find you _intoxicating_.”

Mycroft turned bleached-bone white and Lestrade reached out to grab his arm and steady him as he began to wobble.

      “I was going to tell you, at some point.  When, maybe, I thought you’d come to realize things a little on your own, so it didn’t come as much of a surprise when I spoke up and told you what I intended.  I… maybe I’m wrong, but I suspect you don’t have a lot of experience with this.  Having another man attracted to you, I mean.  And… and having him want to explore what can come of that.  I do intend to court you, Mycroft Holmes.  Started already, actually.  I intend to give you a proper courting and let you see all you need to see, know all you need to know, to decide if… well, if I might be someone you’d like to have in your life.  Yes, I know it can’t be public and yes, I know it’s dangerous.  But… it’s what _I_ want, if that means anything to you.  I want to know you, Mr. Holmes.  I very much want that.  Now… I suppose you have to decide if you want that, too.”

Lestrade slowly ran his hand down Mycroft’s arm, relishing the slight stutter of breath when he lifted Mycroft’s hand and held it between his own.

      “Yes, I know it’s not proper for us to hold hands, but I’ve wanted to do this since I met you.  I meant to touch your hand that night, you know.  Ran my fingers along your skin… it wasn’t an accident.  I simply had to know what your skin felt like.  Wonderful is the word, for your information.  Your skin is as wonderful as the rest of you and… I know it’s forward and improper and your skirts will probably lift in shock, but I adore the feel of your skin and hope, one day, to feel more of it.  I’m going to do this right, though, Mycroft.  You deserve it.  A true and proper courting, at least, as best as I can manage with my rather feeble manners and no good idea of how to court someone as special as you.  But, I’m going to try.  I’m going to try my utmost.  If you want me to, of course.”

Feeling the continuous trembling of Mycroft’s hand, Lestrade smiled and hoped it would help soothe the man who was staring glassy-eyed at him, as if the events of the past few minutes was some phantasmagoria that still had him in its clutches.

      “Mycroft?  Are you… it’s alright if you don’t know what you want or if you need time to think.  And… and it’s alright if you say you don’t want what I’m offering.  It’s absolutely alright and if you would like to remain my friend, I’d treasure that.  But, I also understand if you don’t think that’s possible.  It’s… it’s another reason I didn’t say something earlier.  I was scared it might change things, ruin things, even, between us and I hated that thought.  I do want you as a friend, Mycroft Holmes.  I genuinely do, as I cherish each moment in your company for the sheer enjoyment of sharing the time in a companionable way, but... I can’t lie and say I wouldn’t want more if it was possible.  It’s your decision, though.  And you can have all the time you’d like to make it.”

Lestrade made to release Mycroft’s hand and found it locked in a grip that he wasn’t about to try to break.  Staying silent and letting Mycroft’s mind process everything he’d said, a small grin finally erupted on his face when he felt the faintest motion of Mycroft’s thumb as it tentatively moved the tiniest distance back and forth against his hand.

      “I… I am finding it difficult to think.”

      “That’s fine.  Just tell me this, if you can.  Shall I return here, in three days’ time, to escort you to dinner?  I did say that I’d like to do that, and it would be my pleasure to take you out for an enjoyable evening, if you’re agreeable to the idea.  Men share dinner as a matter of course, so nobody would think a thing of it.  We can go anywhere, do anything, really, and nobody will wonder about any of it, because that’s more of the natural and normal you were talking about earlier.  I can be discreet, Mycroft.  I know that might be something that has you worried, but don’t be.  I can have a grand night in London with you and have it seem nothing more than two good friends enjoying time in each other’s company.  There’s no danger for you.  I already know what it would mean to you, to both of us, if people learned the truth and I am not going to do anything to make that happen.  And, to think, we won’t even need a chaperone, which is a happy little benefit.”

That, finally, cut through Mycroft’s mental haze and he found himself chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

      “That we won’t.”

      “Does that mean you’ll go with me?  To dinner, I mean.”

A large portion of Mycroft was drowning in something completely unfamiliar – abject terror.  Another portion was flailing in confusion.  A third portion was adrift in a vast sea of inexperience and ignorance and a small portion, a small but significant portion was working to build a raft because… well, because this was a chance he never, not a single time, thought he would be presented.  Gregory… found him appealing.  Attractive!  Wanted to… stars in the sky, he wanted to court him!  A stodgy, sedentary old man and Gregory wanted to give him... what he asked for!  To be courted… never… never, never, never would he have believed this possible, but there was no doubting Gregory’s sincerity.  Ultimately, there was only one answer the tiny, raft-building portion of himself would allow him to give…

      “I… I will.  I will accompany you to dinner.”

Lestrade steeled his own knees from sagging, because he’d worried horribly that Mycroft would send him on his way, never to return.  A chance!  He had a chance and he would do everything possible to make it only the first of many.  His Mycroft… so perfectly majestic in the candlelight, to hold his hand and know there was a chance for them… maybe he should leave before he did something rash and scuttled the beautiful thing that was starting to grow…

      “Then I’ll go now.  Go and let you enjoy your present.  Do come tomorrow, too, if you can… I think the sun will be out and it should be delightful in here.  Bring a book and relax an hour or two.  I’ll be back, though.  Just three days and I’ll call for you.  And, I want you to know… I’ll be thinking about you, Mycroft.  I do anyway, but… just know that you’ll be in my thoughts.  See me out?”

Mycroft nodded slightly and resisted, once again, Lestrade reclaiming his own hand until the explorer grinned at him and wiggled his hand in a way that finally made Mycroft’s lips twitch slightly in return and loosen his grip.  Then it was the dramatic production of the key from Lestrade’s pocket and the unlocking of the conservatory door, followed by the silent walk to the front of the house where Lestrade gathered his hat, jacket and shirt, which had been left for him after being wrapped in paper and tied with string to make a very inconspicuous package for his walk home.  Looking around to ensure they weren’t being watched, Lestrade took Mycroft’s hand once more and gazed into his eyes.

      “I _will_ be thinking about you, Mycroft.  And I’ll be missing you, too.”

With a final small squeeze of their hands, Lestrade opened the front door and stepped out into the night, stopping a few steps from the door to turn and favor Mycroft with a final smile.  And receive a small, yet genuine one from Mycroft in return.

Once Lestrade was out of sight, Mycroft shut the door and rested his back against it a moment while the emotional surge that gripped his body stabilized enough for him to be able to walk to his study.  Or to his bed.  There was to be no further work tonight.  How could there be?  His mind was… shattered.  Deliriously shattered, but he could not exactly mourn the fact.  Gregory… wanted him.  That was nigh on unfathomable, but it was true.  No, there would be no coherent thought tonight, but, that was, for the first time in his life, acceptable.  How often did one step into a fantasy and have it greet them with open arms…


	13. Chapter 13

      “When did my rooms become a library?”

Lestrade stared at his small sitting room filled with books and papers, which were stacked on every open surface, including the laps of the two bodies that had invaded his space and set up camp.

      “When John decided that a cupboard was sufficient as living quarters.  That his mouse hole can enclose a bed is somewhat of a geometric miracle.  Admittedly, the bed need only be doll-sized, given John’s homunculus-like height, but I am still awash with astonishment.”

And awash with _pain_ as John’s fist connected with Sherlock’s arm in, from the perspective of the doctor, a very satisfying fashion.

      “Lovely.  Can I, at least… let’s put these on the floor…”

      “Do not manhandle serious scientific publications!”

      “Not manhandling, Sherlock, just putting, thank you very much, so I can, at least have a seat in my own chair in my own room.”

      “You are deplorably possessive of what is a highly unimpressive expanse of personal territory, Lestrade.”

      “A man has to protect what’s his, doesn’t he?  Especially from ugly and foul-smelling invaders.”

      “John, he has insulted you in the vilest of manners.  Trounce him.”

John shook his head and grinned, sharing it with the newly-returned explorer, though he did feel some small pang of regret that his and Sherlock’s research time was likely at its end for the day.  Sherlock had terrorized the guardians of what seemed like every repository of scientific and medical publications in London to secure them this vast swatch of research papers and they’d had a grand day bolstering their knowledge of certain compounds and techniques that were going to be helpful for their work in the days to come.  It might not have been the most _truthful_ of claims that Mycroft Holmes was sponsoring their research, but it certainly opened wide various doors, especially those that had shut tightly when they saw it was Sherlock banging on them, shouting for admittance.

      “Since that would leave me out of a job, I’ll say no.  Instead, I’ll ask Greg politely how was his day and is he now finished with being a laborer for that brother of yours.”

Something Sherlock had forgotten in his lust for science, but which came rushing back to his mind with extreme haste.

      “Yes… do tell, Lestrade.  Is the house now well-provided with dirt, insects and grass for the sow to enjoy as it reminds him of his younger days staring longingly at the pasture that spread out just steps from the edges of his sty?”

This time, it was Lestrade perpetrating the assault and Sherlock budged further away from the two other men in the room, glaring at them with the wrathful fire of his aggravation.

      “This is not a boxing ring!  I protest being ill-used in this manner!”

      “Then be nice when talking about your brother, you evil thing.”

      “As we are not in public, Lestrade, I may say what I like.  We have already negotiated that particular clause of our contract of association.”

The explorer made a gesture Sherlock had only witnessed from the most nefarious and ill-mannered of the London citizenry, and committed to memory Lestrade’s rather more elegant demonstration for later use.

      “You should still be nice.  Mycroft gives you a lot of freedom and the ability to _enjoy_ that freedom, so paying him a little kindness now and again is the very least you can do.”

      “No, I can do far, far less and that is much more to my liking, so said road shall be the one that I continue to travel.”

Sherlock actually looked proud of his pronouncement and Lestrade found he could do little but laugh at the self-satisfied smile on the younger man’s lips.

      “Just try, alright?  Now and then, just try, even for the novelty of it.  Now, is there a reason beyond John being short that my little home is infested with paper?”

      “Funny, Greg.  And, for your information, Sherlock and I are doing what proper researchers do.  When we start writing our results and sending out the papers for publication, we’ve got to make sure that we put our work in proper context and, also, we’re not treading ground that’s been trod before.  A good few days in the library are part of any successful research protocol.”

      “That almost sounded professional, tiny Doctor Watson.  How many times did you practice that speech while I was gone?”

      “Only two or three times.  Sherlock was very helpful with the larger words.”

      “Nice to know he has _some_ use.”

      “I am highly useful!  And for reasons too numerous to enumerate!”

He’d hoped to come home and lose himself in the memory of his evening and some better-than-average whisky, but Lestrade had to admit this wasn’t a bad alternative, all things considered.

      “Of course lad… of course.  So, I take it the poisons and non-poisons experiments are going well?”

John nodded and hoped he wasn’t beaming with pride, though that’s what he felt like doing.  This was going to be something special, something important.  The sort of thing he’d always hoped to see accomplished but needed, apparently, another perspective added to the problem for the work to really take on a larger and deeper scope.  He and Sherlock made a very good team and… well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if they did this sort of thing again when he returned from his next expedition.

      “I think we’re truly doing something amazing, actually.  Sherlock brought very interesting ideas to the overall image of what I’d envisioned and I think some honestly important and well-received information is going to be the result when we’re done.  And, at the pace we’re going, I might have the opportunity to see most of the experimental phase _and_ the writing done before we leave again.  That hasn’t happened before and it’ll be a joy not to spend the voyage trying to write while looking at the swimmy letters from the ship’s rocking giving me seasickness.”

      “Yeah, it _is_ rather a shame when you mail your findings to your mate Stamford and he has to wipe your vomit off first before he can read any of it, let alone edit it enough for publication.”

      “ _I_ shall perform whatever editing is necessary, though, I doubt any will be required since my hand shall be the one scribing the final draft of the paper or papers we will submit, owing to John’s tendency to maul the English language when he attempts to bring it to paper. ”

John thought about punching Sherlock again, but had to admit that the curly-haired bastard did have somewhat of a point.  And, besides, that was always the part of the whole business he hated most, so having someone else run through a pot of ink or five instead of him wasn’t exactly something to despise.  Of course, that didn’t explain why Greg, despite keeping it out of his voice, had a bit of strangeness playing about in his eyes…

      “Thanks for that, Sherlock.  Really you are the epitome of kindness and manners.  That does raise the point, though, Greg… any idea when we set sail next?”

This question had Sherlock leaning forward, as if the answer was profoundly interesting to him, something that gave John a significant case of curiosity.

      “Uh… no.  No, I don’t.  It won’t be soon, so don’t worry that you’ll be dragged away from your potions and witchcraft before you’re ready to call it finished.  I’ve… I’ve got a _tremendous_ amount of information to go through with the RGS fellows and still more lectures to give and presentations to make than I can count.  And can’t forget money!  Still need money… lots and lots of money.  That all takes time, you know.  Lots and lots of time.  And we haven’t even really begun planning for our next expedition, so there’s that.  See?  Not to worry, John.  No, not to worry.  Lots of time to do your experiments and put some fetid London air in your lungs before we even begin to think about setting foot on a ship.”

Both Sherlock and John stared at the explorer who was now smiling the particular smile that small boys made when they’d done something terribly naughty and were well and truly caught, but hoped they could somehow summon a magical reprieve with the power of their mischievous cuteness.

      “Al….right.  That’s good, Greg.  Really, well-reasoned and clear.  Now, why don’t you toddle off to bed and have a good rest?  I’ll check on you later to make certain you haven’t swallowed your tongue or caught a fever.”

Lestrade snorted and waved off John’s words, but was fully aware that he’d given the most inane and suspicious speech in the history of speechmaking.  Luckily, the reason for it would happily remain his secret.  Nobody needed to know what went on between him and Mycroft tonight and certainly nobody needed to know that he was having to think of ways to keep himself in London long enough to see what was going to come of tonight’s round of confessions.  Not that he’d any fixed schedule to keep or commitments to fulfill on that front, because the RGS had no firm expectations about how often he was away, as long as he provided regular contributions to their overall mission.  So, if he decided some extra time in London was warranted, no one was going to question it.  Probably, in truth, some would say it was overdue.  Even an explorer needed to connect with his own people now and again to keep… the _foreignness_ at bay.  Don’t want to see a proper Englishman go native, now did they?  Yes, he could likely parlay that into a fair bit of time in London, as long as the lectures and appearances were kept up and his face was regularly within these hallowed walls helping with all the information they’d brought back with them.  Definitely a fair bit of time… 

      “You make me sound like an old man, John, which I certainly am not.  In fact, how about a drink and you two can tell me all about what you’re reading?  It’s good for me to know about what you’re doing so I can use it as more proof that what we do is valuable and worth supporting.”

With as much devil-may-care as he could muster, Lestrade plucked the bottle of whisky out of the small chest under the window and, much to his surprise, found three glasses to hold his much-needed spirits.  Well, much-needed for _him_ … tonight bordered on magical and even if he couldn’t talk about it, he could at least celebrate it and the best celebrations were those with friends.  That they didn’t know a celebration was happening was entirely beside the point…

__________

One advantage to being Mycroft Holmes was the blissful ability on most days to organize his time has he saw fit.  Oh, the appointments must be met as scheduled and there were always matters that were timely and pressing, but how all of that fit into the 24 hours that made a day was very much his to arrange.  Take now, for instance.  If he chose to rise from his bed, he could do so.  If he chose otherwise, there was none to question it, let alone overrule his decision.  And ‘otherwise’ was certainly today’s preferred choice.

When he’d taken to this bed last night, his mind was in an unprecedented state.  It was chaotic, tangled of thought, yet… yet jubilant and in a state that verged, dare he say it, on ecstasy.  If he could not still feel Gregory’s warmth upon the skin of his hand, he would believe it a dream, but that was the furthest possible from the truth.  It was _real_.  Real and tangible and possible.

And weren’t the possibilities… indescribable.  Gregory spoke of courtship and it was now clear that the process most certainly had begun.  Not a press for an unseemly physical affair, but something more profound.  He _had_ been courted… and treated with respect, yet with a boundless portion of humor and collegiality.  Gregory was an utter scamp, but his more scandalous behaviors began to make a very flattering amount of sense when viewed in this new light.  And they had been evinced since the beginning!  Gregory had known, from the moment their eyes first met that there was something present between them and had, most courageously, decided to act upon it.  Which was incalculably fortunate, for if left to _him_ , the number of real and tangible possibilities for them to explore would be nil.

 _That_ tragedy would be incalculable in its enormity.  Only now the monumental scale of the potential loss was looming large in his eyes and it was, at best, a frightening thing.  He held in his hands a jewel of immeasurable price and could easily have continued to pine for said jewel, never realizing that it already nestled snugly in his grasp.  Though… Gregory _did_ say he would reveal himself at some point.  Would he have accepted it as readily, though, without the avalanche of emotional boulders that pinned him to the conservatory floor and made every raw and exposed nerve scream towards the torturous pain of rebirth?  That was a bit florid.  Hell and be damned!  If he wished to be florid when thinking of his Gregory then florid he shall be!  Though the possessive ‘his’ might be misapplied at this early point in their journey.  Or was it appropriate from even the first step on the path?  And, if he voiced it only in his mind, did the quandary have meaning beyond the theoretical, in any case?  What even did that mean?  There was something wrong with his brain.  Something wondrously and gloriously wrong and never would he have believed himself gleeful over mental dissolution, but here he was reveling in this singular experience.  In his life there was  a _his_.  Someone to whom the term could be applied and… dare he say it… returned in kind.  Here in this bed… oh dear.  That was a perilous direction to send his thoughts.  Gregory Lestrade in this bed.  With… naught but a nightshirt.  Underneath which was… skin.  Unclothed flesh.  Separated from his own by only the slightest of fabric layers.

And there… there could be the sharing of touches.  Touches and, dare he think it… kisses.  The feel of Gregory’s lips upon his own… his mind could not begin to imagine such a thing.  Never before had he sampled affection in that manner and… to have Gregory… oh bother.

Mycroft knew without seeing, not that he _could_ easily see with his belly between him and the source of this demanding sensation, that there _was_ a demanding sensation forming between his thighs and it was demanding with a force that startlingly… forceful.  There was a truth to male biology as morning broke and he suffered it as did all gentlemen, by properly ignoring it and going on about his business, but today… today there was nearly a _pulsation_ as he savored the thought of Gregory’s hands upon him, perhaps running fingers along his shoulder or tracing the curve of his chin.  The fact that it was a _delicious_ feeling in no manner excused its rudeness and if his… anatomy… did not behave itself stern words would be had.  Perhaps a vigorous… no, do not venture in any manner towards the concept of vigorousness.  Or any form of activity in that region, as a matter of fact.  Though… what might be the outcome if, most hypothetically, of course, a certain explorer shared his rest and found him in such a state one fine morning.  It was not as if he could hide it, for heaven’s sake.  As Gregory leaned over to impart the small peck upon his cheek, as was their traditional morning greeting, he would surely notice the… agitation.  Perhaps… dear Aristotle… he might sport such agitation himself!  Which, as he leaned across to bid good morning… there could be contact.  Between the agitations!  No… such sordidness would never… oh, apparently his own agitation very much enjoyed the thought of sordidness.  That was an especially improper surge of… demand... the wicked thing.  And shifting to alleviate it simply produced… rubbing.  Which did unspeakable things to the demand!  He was trapped in a cycle of debauchery!

      “Are you ever rising from your bed or has your enormity finally produced sufficient pressure that your internals have liquefied and there lies on your mattress nothing but a befleshed bag of human bullion?”

Mycroft panicked wildly and began dragging blankets over him before realizing that blankets were _already_ over him and he was actually still alone in the room.

      “SHERLOCK!”

      “That was louder than your usual trumpeting, but it is to be expected from a member of the pachyderm race, I suppose, when they are woken from excessive slumber.”

      “Begone!”

      “No.”

      “Immediately!”

      “I refuse.”

Shaking his fist at the bedroom door, Mycroft snarled and debated his options.  Sherlock’s morning diatribes were normally quickly-delivered and consisted of whatever requirements he needed met for his day’s planned activities.  Of course, he _would_ pick this morning of all mornings to break pattern… best see this managed and the infant evicted so the day might proceed with some degree of effectiveness.  Not that he had much confidence it would, in any case.  How could he be effective given… courtship!

      “Have you died?  If so I demand your ghost sign over to me full possession of your accounts and properties.”

      “I have not expired and you know well that the walls of legality I have erected between you and the family monies would take an army of miners to break through.”

      “You will insert into your will sufficient funds bequeathed to me to hire _two_ legions of miners so I might have my inheritance in half the time!”

As this could go on for a very long while, it was perhaps best this be conducted with both of them on the same side of the door.

      “Sherlock, if you have something to discuss, please enter and do it with utmost alacrity.”

If a half-second passed before the door flung open, Mycroft would be greatly surprised.  And it gave him no time to situate himself in a more dignified position in his bed, forcing him to do so while his brother looked on with highly-affected repulsion.

      “The elephant has risen from its bed of earth and readies itself to face its day.  My joy is immeasurable.  Now, as the topic of this morning’s conversation, I wish to discuss… you.”

      “Very well.  I remember little of my actual birth, however, from the stories Mummy delights in telling…”

      “Your humor is appropriate only for the mice that share your passion for our cheese.  It is a scientific curiosity that you are able to cooperate with the household rodents to see agreeable division of the pantry’s cheese, given an elephant’s fear of mice, but I will postpone investigating the question to a later time.”

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft thought for the hundredth time how restful it would be if dear Sherlock was go abroad for a decade or two.  The various wars and international incidents that would provoke would disturb his day far less than dealing with his brother face to face.

      “Is there a point to this visitation, Sherlock?  I cannot believe that you were so anxious to gaze upon me in my nightshirt that you bullied your way into my bedchamber to satisfy your urge.”

      “I shall set aside the nausea-inducing imagery of that statement and focus, instead, on the matter of far greater import.”

      “Which is?”

      “You.”

      “And, like the breaking of the sun’s rays through the storm clouds, my mind finds clarity.”

      “You are being most obstinate this morning.”

      “You are being most nonsensical this morning.”

      “Why is Lestrade suddenly indecisive about the timetable for his return to Africa?”

Mycroft hoped that nothing of what he was feeling was visible on his face, because that would be extremely revealing and not something Sherlock’s observational gifts would miss.  Gregory… oh dear.  If that was not evidence of the seriousness of his courtship proposal, then the man had suffered some calamity on the journey home and now labored under mental defect.  Since the latter was most unlikely… oh dear for a second time.  That was intensely gratifying to hear, though Sherlock could not know of it.  This… this must be handled with some delicacy…

      “I have no idea.  Perhaps matters have arisen that require further of his input and he is unsure when they shall be resolved.”

      “That statement is the vaguest assemblage of words ever uttered in the history of time.”

      “Is there an award associated with such an honor?”

      “What transpired between you and Lestrade when I was not here to observe?”

Many things which were certainly not for younger-brother ears.

      “Gregory completed work on the conservatory and I tended to my own issues of business.  It was a tranquil day, all things considered.”

      “You are lying.”

      “That is true.  Lying most happily in my bed.”

      “You are lying about your activities.  Lestrade was behaving most suspiciously last night and I would know the reason why.”

      “Then, I believe it is to Gregory that your inquiries should be directed.”

      “You are a closer target.”

      “True.  But, as we have previously established, mind-reading is not a reality so I have no basis on which to comment about his intentions for his work.”

      “I believe you do.”

      “Belief is that to which one clings when one lacks facts or truth.”

      “Precisely, so you will rectify that.”

Sherlock shocked Mycroft strongly by sitting on the edge of the bed and fixing him with a steely glare.

      “Remove yourself from my bed this instant!”

      “Not something, I suspect, you will be saying to Lestrade.”

With actual concern his brother was having a fit, Sherlock leaned over and lifted Mycroft’s hand to check his pulse, pouting when Mycroft snatched it back.

      “You… your accusations are most unappreciated.”

      “Appreciate them or not, I have little doubt they are true.  If you are worried, Lestrade did not disclose any information and I am confident John did not make the appropriate deductions to pull together the puzzle pieces, but… confess.”

      “I refuse.”

      “I have already used that sentence, so it is mentally feeble of you to engage in repetition.”

Mycroft snarled and Sherlock smiled in triumph.

      “You should simply make a clean breast of the situation, Mycroft, for I will carry on with my assumptions regardless of your confirmation.”

He would, too.  Sherlock seemed most prepared to make a _substantial_ issue of his assumptions and, since his awareness of social propriety amounted to naught, could easily be worked into a state where unintentional, yet damning, public statements might be made.  Perhaps it was best to assuage his curiosity and reduce the intensity of its internal burn.  The consequences, unfortunately, could not be risked.

      “If we converse on this subject, Sherlock, I must impress upon you that the information is such that it can and would bring ruin to Gregory and myself.”

      “Pfft.  As if either of you have anything worthwhile to ruin.”

And, hence, the reason Sherlock could not be trusted with information that had even a modicum of importance.  The streak of childishness and impertinence that ran in him was wide and, unfortunately, showed no signs of shrinking.

      “I see.  Then, please leave and be aware that if you make any statements that might be termed slanderous while in public, I _will_ see you prosecuted to protect Gregory’s good name.”

Sherlock startled more at the calm, matter-of-fact tone of Mycroft’s voice than the threat and felt unfamiliar and unpleasant threads of regret wind through his nerves.  There was a small chance his form of humor was not entirely appropriate at the moment …

      “I was simply making a jest.”

      “And that is why we cannot have this discussion.  Nothing about this matter is to be treated lightly and if I cannot be confident in your discretion, then the discussion will not occur.”

Mycroft watched his brother closely, feeling substantial surprise that Sherlock was visibly upset at the turn of the conversation.  Perhaps there was hope for him yet…

      “I will be discreet.  I would not say or do anything to compromise you or Lestrade.  On that you have my word.”

Taking Sherlock’s word for _anything_ was generally unwise, but there was no mistaking the sincerity of his words or soberness of his inflection.  Extending trust might eventually be proved foolish, but… Sherlock was certain to fathom out the situation at some point, in any case…

      “Very well.  Gregory made known to me that he… he has intentions towards me of a romantic nature.”

      “Do you return them?”

Something to which Mycroft had devoted the all of his intellect when he took to his bed.  The risk was both real and extreme, but… that in no manner diminished his desire to pursue whatever might be possible with Lestrade.  Though, of course, at an acceptable pace.

      “I do.  I have found myself thinking along those lines for some time and was… most surprised to find them shared.”

      “Then Lestrade is the reason you have been positively intolerable lately.”

      “I will not deny it.  It is not an easy thing, Sherlock, to want and believe you will never attain.  And, I knew I, also, wanted Gregory as a friend, therefore might continue to share his company, but always suffer a longing I knew would never be fulfilled.  I suppose it did sour my temper somewhat.”

      “And your insistence he was a man without _leanings_?”

      “Let us say the shock of Gregory’s revelation was somewhat severe.”

      “Given the apparent wealth of vapid women eager to bear his children, I am not surprised.”

Thank you for bringing that back into memory, Sherlock.  I most appreciate the remembrance, especially since I have yet to enjoy my breakfast, which is, now, well and truly spoiled.

      “That was a piece of evidence that weighed heavily against his sharing my nature.  However… I am not entirely certain whether he considers his attraction to men a preclusion to an attraction to women.”

      “It is _Lestrade_.  The more attention he can garner, the happier he is.  I have no doubt he actively pursues anyone who might be foolish enough to fall victim to his caddish smile.”

Caddish?  Luminous, you foolish boy.

      “Gregory must interact with society in a highly positive manner for the benefit of his work.  It is to be expected that he be generous with his smile.”

       “I demand to accompany you to the first social gathering you attend together so I might monitor your physiological breakdown while he smiles and behaves flirtatiously with persons who are not you.”

That was actually a serious concern.  Gregory was terribly gregarious and… there _would_ be smiling.  And winking.  No, perhaps not winking.  That had not been observed for either the peahens or… peacocks… in any audience he had inspected during Gregory’s lectures.  Good.  Some small conversation might be necessary, though, to forestall any possible future manifestations of winking when it was not directed at him.

      “If you have bothered to notice, Sherlock, Gregory and I are both adults who are most able to conduct ourselves appropriately in public.”

Sherlock’s laughter was not entirely misplaced.  He _had_ included Gregory in that sentence.

      “Lestrade is fully content to use his explorer status to circumvent every social expectation he encounters.”

      “However, he remains squarely under the umbrella of the gentleman and, as such, remains welcome in even the finest homes.”

      “Now that we are on the subject, is he, now, to have a room here?  If so, I insist that the walls around both my bedchamber and my laboratory be filled with heaviest of muds and clay so that I do not have to hear any potential romantic proclamations issuing from either of you while you roam around the house, assaulting the servants ears with your besotted prattle.”

There were two parts of that insulting speech that were notably troubling and Mycroft wasn’t certain which to engage first.

      “At least Mrs. Hudson will not be astonished by your ardor-stained declarations.  I believe she is rather for your unholy union and will further deplete the gin supply in celebration when she learns it has become official.”

Well, that was one troubling matter settled, to a degree.  And he could feel no real amazement that his housekeeper either knew or approved of the situation.  He would not have hired her if she was typical in her demeanor.  And, if there was a servant she felt would be problematic in terms of behavior upon learning the timbre of the household… well, their employment would likely be terminated quickly and with very little fuss.  Now, there was still the issue of troubling matter number two.

      “Well, it is heartening to know that I shall not have to suffer her eternal scorn for what she perceives as gross perversion.”

      “You should be more concerned that she spies upon you through her beloved keyholes, though the sight of you and Lestrade exchanging even a handholding will most surely strike an unprepared observer blind.  That would render her rather unsuitable for her position, yet I feel Mrs. Hudson would not consider that sufficiently good reason to be sacked and continue to plague us with her interminable reign of terror.”

      “Yes, well… I am confident even she will respect the bounds of decorum and not violate Gregory and my privacy.  And… it is absurd to believe that Gregory would reside here with us, regardless of the potential for surveillance.  I assume he would prefer to maintain his own residence, if for no other reason than to keep up appearances.”

      “Lestrade could not _afford_ a residence in London or, at least, not one where he would not have to distribute a king’s ransom in bribes so that he was not violently accosted each day as he dodged hurled horse droppings to reach here for your daily reading of sonnets or whatnot.”

      “I believe you hystericize the situation, brother dear.  As is typical.”

Though it might be prudent to make some highly subtle investigations into the RGS accounts to ascertain the extent of his Gregory’s income.  Surely a modest dwelling would be within his reach, would it not?  Though would the equity begin to rankle as he returned each night to his bed shrouded in coarse cotton, while _he_ slept on the finest linen?  His Gregory’s skin could not be insulted in such fashion!  Well, if he had to prepare a trousseau for his… suitor… to protect the sanctity of his skin, then tradition be damned!  It would be so or his name was not Mycroft Holmes!

      “Incorrect.  But, it makes the situation far more tolerable for me as I will not have to ignore two odious presences during my day instead of the standard one.  I will inform Lestrade that if has designs on sharing my breakfast table each morning, I will repel his crossing the threshold most forcefully and on your orders.”

      “What!  No!  Are you insane!  You will say nothing to Gregory about… anything!  First, it is absolutely none of your business, no matter how desperately you would wish to make it so.  Second, we have only take the introductory step on what will be a very long path.  We are nowhere near the stage of discussing residences and bed linens.”

      “Bed linens?”

      “That is also none of your business.”

Sherlock glared at his brother, who returned it with equal potency and that might have been the brothers remained all day if it wasn’t for another knock at the door, this one without an accompanying inquiry about Mycroft’s death.

      “Are you both in there?  No fighting before breakfast!  You know how that upsets your digestion, Mr. Holmes.  Now, come along or I’ll feed your plates to the dog!”

Mycroft sighed and felt some small envy for Lestrade and the certain quiet of his mornings.  How a bachelor’s residence could demonstrate this degree of domestic bustle was quite beyond his reckoning…  

      “We do not have a dog, Mrs. Hudson.”

      “Tell that to your brother.”

      “Sherlock…”

      “Toby is not my dog.  Toby is a free agent and if he chooses to participate in certain experiments, that is entirely his own choice.”

      “No.  Absolutely not.  I will not condone animal cruelty under this roof.”

      “There is nothing cruel about assessing his talents for tracking, given a variety of aromatic cues from which to work.”

      “Oh.  Very well.  However, mark my words, he will not become a member of this household.”

      “How could he?  You’ve already given shelter to Lestrade and Lestrade would certainly be jealous of another hound on the property.”

And, with that, Sherlock hopped up from the bed, snorted in victory, and marched out of the room, leaving Mycroft to wonder how his brother would fare with nothing but gruel and hardtack for the next few months.  And Gregory _would_ share their breakfast table whenever the opportunity arose.  Or, perhaps, they might enjoy a breakfast tray in here, where they could enjoy a quiet, and private, meal.  Surely there was someone in the city who could fashion some form of trapdoor at his bedroom entrance that could be operated by a lever installed here, next to the bed.  Actually, the household floorplan was such that several could be installed, in vertical order, to drop any unwanted visitors directly into the cellar.  If he was feeling benevolent, some form of cushioning might be provided to lessen the impact.  However, that could be removed at will.  Hopefully Sherlock’s bones were stronger than his lean form led one to believe…


	14. Chapter 14

Mrs. Hudson peeked into the conservatory and let her grin spread wide seeing the now-familiar sight of her employer, enjoying an hour with the day’s newspapers, taking the relaxation his physician advised and enjoying the gift that he’d been given.  _Greatly_ enjoying the gift he’d been given, at that.  It was as if someone else slid into Mr. Holmes’s skin while he was in there and his whole demeanor changed.  When no one was looking, of course.  That Mr. Lestrade was a smart one.  Perfect gift for an overworked, overstressed, stubborn man, of which Mr. Holmes was the finest of the breed.

Now, she just had to make certain her employer didn’t have a heart incident, gift or not, before tonight.  Every time she even mentioned the word ‘dinner,’ he gasped and tried to hide it with a cough.  Silly man… as if Sherlock hadn’t relayed every detail already so she could ensure his clothes were given a more thorough inspection than usual and there was an especially bright shine to his walking stick.  Her little… big… boy was being escorted to dinner by a fine man and that was a _very_ special occasion.  If this didn’t go well, it certainly wouldn’t be because of a dusty hat or a smudge on his shoes!

Not that Mr. Lestrade would care about either of those things, but if _Mr. Holmes_ noticed any of that while they were out, he’d have a nervous event that would send his dinner companion scrambling to find a physician and fretting their first romantic evening was going to end in death.  That wouldn’t sell her Mr. Holmes as a proper candidate for… whatever you had when two gentlemen decided that a life together was something they wanted and wanted dearly!  And that _was_ the direction this was heading, in her opinion, and her opinion on this sort of this thing needed to be taken seriously.  What good was it to have lived all these years if you couldn’t spot a good match when you saw one!

      “Yes, Mrs. Hudson?”

      “Why are you talking to me?”

      “Because your silhouette has been hovering in the glass for the past several minutes and I am attempting to ascertain if it is actually you or some form of phantasm.”

      “It’s me.”

      “Then, I shall repeat my question, content in the knowledge that it will be answered with something other than a dreary ghostly moaning.”

      “Oh.  I just wanted to remind you that you’ve got gentlemen coming in about half an hour.”

      “Yes, I have my watch on my person, so I am most aware of the time.”

      “A watch in your pocket isn’t the same as a watch in your hand.  Simply trying to be helpful.”

And verifying that he was taking his prescribed relaxation.  Meddlesome woman.  Though she _had_ given his walking stick an exceptionally nice polish, which was terribly appropriate given the importance of tonight’s event.

      “Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.  I shall be in my study when they arrive.”

      “Alright.  Oh, and might you have anything that needs a… shine or polish or brushing or ironing or anything that I can tend to?  I’ve got time, so it’s no bother.”

_And_ still concealing that Sherlock had, in completely expected fashion, run to her immediately after their conversation a few mornings ago and divulged the full truth of his association with Gregory.   While he had, now, a strong measure of confidence that his brother would keep his private business private, at least from the general public, Mrs. Hudson was exempt from such an oath.  The true question, the one still somewhat plaguing him was… Mummy.  _That_ visit loomed large on the horizon and Sherlock was certainly prone to gossiping with Mummy when he felt it would gain him a small purse to boost his standard allowance.  This was information Mummy simply could _not_ have and that was the end of the matter.  His life would be agonizing if she had an inkling that there was… attraction… in the air.

      “I believe my possessions are in suitable condition at this time, thank you.”

      “Are you sure about that?  Got… know what you’re going to need for the next few days?  Or, say, tonight?  Not that you have any plans for tonight, of course, that would require any extra fussing, what with having a friendly meal with Mr. Lestrade, but… if you think of anything, do let me know.”

Fussing… what an utterly feminine concept.  Though…

      “If you are simply perishing to keep yourself occupied, you could check that… the buttons and whatnot for my black…”

      “No.”

      “Pardon?”

      “No black.”

      “Is this some form of riddle I am supposed to fathom out and win a prize?”

      “Black’s wrong for… whatever you were going to do.”

Was it?

      “Since you are unknowing of my intentions, may I inquire as to your source of confidence for asserting that particular opinion?”

      “Both my eyes work.  That’s my source of confidence.”

Balderdash.  His black suit was an especially handsome specimen.

      “Be that as it may…”

      “Black is for business and funerals.  Are you doing any of those tonight?”

Oh dear.  That was not the impression he hoped to make.  Gregory would certainly not take pains to hold hands with a corpse!

      “Simply for the sake of argument, what you propose as an alternative?”

      “The dark gray coat.  Specifically, since you’ve got several, the one with the faintest hint of deep blue in it because… I’ll leave it at that.”

NO!  There was information to be had and he would not be denied!  His romance with Gregory could depend on it!

      “Will you please come in here, Mrs. Hudson, so that we no longer have to shout through the door?”

Oh do stop smoothing your skirt and pretending you have no idea what is going on.  But, since I have been doing the same, I shall not vocalize my recriminations.

      “Yes, Mr. Holmes?”

      “Why is that particular suit more appropriate for my dinner with Gregory and do not obfuscate because I am fully aware that my brother’s infantilism drove him to you to reveal his newly-acquired information and it is not to your credit to maintain ignorance.”

      “ _He_ didn’t tell me.  I told _him_.  Clear from the first time Mr. Lestrade stepped through the door that you two were two ships on a collision path and I’m just happy you finally… collided.”

Oh yes, mustn’t forget that Mrs. Hudson sees all and knows all, as she is very fond of telling you.  Frequently.

      “I see.  Then I will thank you for maintaining the confidentiality of the situation and request that you continue to do so, given the delicacy of the circumstances.”

      “I wouldn’t do anything to see you and that handsome Mr. Lestrade suffer, Mr. Holmes, and you know that very well.  It’s time you had someone in your life to actually _give_ you a life and that’s not something I’m going to see spoiled.  So, to return to your clothing for tonight.  That coat shows a bit more of the blue in evening lighting and that makes your eyes stand out.  Mr. Lestrade will appreciate that, I think.  And you’ve got that blue waistcoat to wear, too.  The one you say is a bit garish for the day’s business.  It will be perfect.”

The blue waistcoat.  Not the fabric he had ordered and his tailor had been made very aware of that fact, however… however, women _did_ give more attention to things such as color and… eyes… so it was a suggestion he _might_ be tempted to consider.

      “I’ll give it a very good look and make certain all of that is perfect for you.  Oh!  And you have that ring of your father’s don’t you?  The one with the very tasteful sapphire?  That would be a nice addition.  I’ll have that out, too, and give it a bit of a rub so it looks its best.”

If there was anyone in London more expectant of tonight’s dinner than him, it, apparently, was Mrs. Hudson.

      “That will be acceptable.  Now, if you will excuse me…”

      “I’ll run to the chemist, too, and see about some of that new tooth powder he has in.”

      “Why in the world…”

Oh dear lord, she was puckering her lips!  As if… this was too painful to watch.

      “You know what I mean, Mr. Holmes.  Mr. Lestrade seems the… forward type, which is lucky for you because if you were being courted by a shy bloke I don’t think you’d ever get past looking at each other from across the room.  But, don’t worry, we’ll get your smile bright so when…”

No puckering!

      “… things take a turn for the forward, he won’t be able to resist getting to know that smile a bit better.  Now, leave it all to me and I’ll have you ready for your caller in fine style.  Don’t forget you have people in soon, though.  Get rid of them quickly so you have time to relax and maybe have a drink or two before Mr. Lestrade arrives.  No appearing nervous and hesitant for you lovely evening.  I’ll bring some bread and butter before your guests arrive so your energy is at top level to evict them quickly and get on to your relaxing.”

And without, of course, any response from him, his housekeeper was off on her own self-assigned duties, but as this was typical for their household and it _did_ make said household run most efficiently, he would not evince a thunderous visage and growl formidably.  Not that it was a likely thing, in any case, but it _would_ be good practice for the few matters of government that required his attention today.  Several hours of pompous popinjays who needed putting in their place after a number of incautious decisions on their part that kept him rather busy, much as a housekeeper, bringing the national house back to order.  But, a relatively quick eviction was certainly called for because Mrs. Hudson’s notions were not entirely hysterical.  A calming libation would not be amiss after such a disagreeable day if he was to greet Gregory in his most jubilant mood.  And he did so dearly want to do so for this was truly a day of consequence… his very first romantic assignation.  Mummy would be highly pleased, not that she would _ever_ know… his sanity depended upon it.

__________

John watched his friend open and close a notebook for the tenth time and wondered if Greg even realized that one was blank and not the specimen he’d looked to get from their writings from their last expedition when he’d reached into the chest.

      “Is something wrong with your head, Greg?”

      “Besides being so handsome that it’s probably immoral?”

      “Besides being somewhere other than here for the past few days.”

      “Ummmmmm… no.”

      “Want to tell me what has you bothered?  Or is bothered even the right word?  You’ve been smiling like a man who has found a diamond at the bottom of his coal delivery and I must say that I’m very curious as to why.”

Shite.  John wasn’t completely devoid of tracking skills and it was unsporting of him to apply them here!

      “Just enjoying the bit of warmth London’s seeing.”

      “Whew!  That lie smelled worse than a chamber pot in a cholera hospital.”

      “Wrong.  London _has_ been warm the past few days.   Or, warm _er_ because their idea of warm doesn’t really align with mine anymore.  Maybe my blood is getting thin.  Can that happen?  You’re a doctor, you should know these things.”

      “Should I take a seat for this show or is your running around the truth going to end soon.”

Right now, running around the truth sounded like an excellent idea.  John was a good friend and a very discreet one, but he was becoming more than slightly friendly with Sherlock and… Sherlock was something of an issue.  Given Mycroft’s private nature, there was a chance that Sherlock didn’t know about his brother’s preferences and if that was the way Mycroft wanted things, it was certainly not _his_ place to Mycroft’s privacy.  If Sherlock _did_ know about his brother… did Sherlock know about _him_?  That was another place he could easily envision Mycroft keeping matters close to vest.  He’d only seen the lad briefly since he and Mycroft had their conversation and that was not nearly enough time for him to get a sense of what Sherlock did and didn’t know, so talking to John about matters… it was a risk.  Or not.  John already knew he was attracted to Mycroft and hadn’t told Sherlock.  Hopefully.  It was just… making things official seemed to… raise the stakes.

      “I’ve just got my mind on work, John.  Two more groups have requested I give a lecture for them and that’s two more layered on the other groups who have already scheduled me to speak for them.  I’m highly desirable, as you well know.”

      “You are the most desirable person in your imagination, that much is true.  But, Greg… there _is_ something in your head, isn’t there?  You’re a terrible liar and trying to tell one makes you look foolish.”

      “I’m not lying!  I do have two more groups that want to hear me speak.”

John threw up his hands and glared at his friend, who was practically dripping insincerity all over the floor of the RGS.

      “Just answer one thing for me… does this have anything to do with Mycroft?”

      “Uh… no.  No, of course not.  Why would you even say that?”

      “Alright, so we’ve established this is about you and Mycroft.”

      “Wrong.”

      “I counter with ‘right,’ and I’ll add to my wager the fact that you’re playing with your fingers the way you do when you’re trying not to let anyone know you’re hiding something.”

      “I do that?”

      “How do you think I knew you were the one who smoked the last of my good tobacco?”

Damn John Watson!  And the tobacco wasn’t that stellar, in the first place.

      “Can I… if I ask you not to pry, can we simply let this rest?”

No, because the explorer was hiding something and not all ‘somethings’ were pleasant.

      “So, further confirmation this is about Mycroft.  He hasn’t… there’s nothing… are you alright?”

      “Do I even want to know what it is you’re thinking?”

      “Probably not.  I’m not even entirely certain what it is beyond a general… lack of gentlemanly regard.”

      “That sounded very proper.”

      “Thank you.  I suppose I just want to know if there’s anything I _should_ know because you might need a friend even if you don’t think you need or want a friend right now.”

He _did_ need a friend right  now, it was just…

      “Mycroft’s not done a single ungentlemanly thing.  In fact, he’s going to join me for dinner tonight and I’m greatly looking forward to it.”

      “Alright… you’re not lying about that, at least.  And, I’m going to assume that is somehow related to the runs you’ve been making to the shops.  Do you have _any_ cash left in the bank or are you going to be passing a hat around during your lectures to collect for food and clothes?”

There’s still a… few guineas left in the bank, I’ll have you know, you evil doctor.  Actually, there was still his ‘old gent’ account left untouched and his next round of wages was due in a few days.  Maybe he’d been a _tad_ extravagant with certain things, but it was an investment.  You did that when there was something important in your line of sight.  Invested knowing the return was going to be something incredible and there was nothing out there as incredible as his Mycroft.  Doing a bit of mending on his clothes or purchasing a lower-quality whisky to sip in the evenings certainly wasn’t worth complaining about when Mr. Mycroft Holmes was spending many of those evenings at his side.

      “I do.  Yes, I know I’ve been a tad pound-foolish lately, but I’m not destined for the workhouse just yet.”

      “You know that you’d be happier talking about whatever you want to talk about, don’t you?”

      “You know that ‘pry’ is only a three-letter word and not out of range of a doctor’s vocabulary, don’t you?”

      “Greg…”

      “John…”

      “Is this about buggery?”

John rushed forward to support his friend, who seemed to have gone weak at the knees and used his free hand to drag over a stool for the explorer to have a seat.

      “There.  That gave your brain a shake.  And it wouldn’t have shaken if I hadn’t hit somewhere on the target, at least.  Go ahead, tell your dear friend Doctor Watson what’s bothering you.”

      “You evil sod…”

      “So, about you and Mycroft…”

      “Fine!  If only to stop you… talking.  You know the tale anyway, I just…”

      “Yes?”

      “I finally told Mycroft how I feel.  How I _really_ feel.  No games or silly teasing… just the truth.”

      “Oh.  That’s actually… good?”

      “Why did you make that a question?”

      “Because I don’t know yet if his response was a positive one or not.”

      “That’s true.  And, yes, his response was positive.  After I got him over the shock that nearly killed him before I was able to _get_ his response.”

      “Well… congratulations!  That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

John was having a rather hard time reconciling his friend’s hopes with his friend’s behavior but, given it was Greg, had a suspicion there was something still lurking about in his hideous grey head.

      “It is.  It’s absolutely what I want and I couldn’t be happier.”

      “Then why are you avoiding talking about it like you were worried a bishop was standing in the shadows waiting to condemn you for heresy as well as sodomy?”

      “Because… because of the Sherlock conundrum.”

      “Is that a book?”

      “No!  It’s… I don’t know if Sherlock has any idea about his brother’s romantic tastes and I don’t want to be the one who tells Mycroft’s secrets if he doesn’t want them told.”

      “Hmmm… and Sherlock doesn’t know about you, either.”

      “The other half of the problem.”

      “I don’t think he’d care, if that makes a difference.”

      “Maybe not, but Mycroft might.  It’s not… it’s not a small thing, you know.  It’s not the same as having a secret taste for gambling or less-than-honest business practices.  This is something that could hurt Mycroft badly.  Bring him to ruin and I don’t want to do anything to risk that.”

      “And you worried I’d say something to Sherlock?”

      “Perhaps.”

      “You do know that I’ve never said a word to him about our conversations before, right?”

      “I do, but… it’s gone beyond me having a few fantasies about Sherlock’s brother, hasn’t it?  That would have just put _me_ in the docket, but, now, Mycroft could be exposed and I can’t have that.  I trust you, John, I really do.  But…”

But when you talked among friends, things were said you wouldn’t say in public.  Sometimes just by accident because you’d had a whisky or two and were feeling relaxed and… safe.  Sherlock was becoming a friend, too… _was_ a friend, at this point, for all intents and purposes…

      “Anyone can have a slip of the tongue?”

      “Yeah… sorry, though.  I really am sorry.  Of course, if you weren’t pining for Sherlock, I would have told you immediately.”

Just because you’ve found a spot of luck in your life, Greg Lestrade, doesn’t mean that you’re not a complete bastard, so you can pack away that smile for someone who doesn’t know how bastardy you are.

      “I am NOT pining for Sherlock.”

      “That’s another question that still waits for an answer, isn’t it?  We don’t know if Sherlock will appreciate your taking him on your arm for a stroll around London on a warm, clear night.”

      “Since I have no intention of ever doing that, we’ll _never_ know, will we?”

      “Alright, I’m just having a laugh.  You can’t stroll Sherlock any more than I can stroll Mycroft.  But there are still nice dinners to be had.”

      “Sherlock and I have already had our share of dinners.  And lunches.  And heady pints, though he’s convinced that beer is for common people.  It doesn’t stop him from drinking his share, though.”

      “John Watson, you’re already further along on your courtship than I am!  Hearty meals, gifts of poisons and pints… want me to tell you a very nice shop for sweets?  They did wonders for Mycroft…”

      “The saddest bit is that you still believe you’re a funny man.”

      “I make Mycroft laugh and I think that rather tells the tale.”

      “He fancies you, so he feels obliged to help your ego when you make one of your horrible jokes.”

      “Our romance is based on honesty, I’ll have you know.”

      “You don’t have a romance.  You have a dinner.  Which you should be preparing for, shouldn’t you?  You’ve only a few hours until you’re expected and you’ll need every bit of that time what with all the dithering and mind-changing and checking and inspecting you’ll do before you consider yourself presentable.”

      “That’s true.  Sad, but true.  A man like Mycroft… he deserves someone highly presentable at table with him.  Don’t want anyone who knows him to wonder why he’s being seen with a grocer or something.”

With the new clothes Greg had purchased lately, being mistaken for a greengrocer wasn’t much of a worry.  But, knowing what Mycroft likely had waiting in his wardrobe, something nicer than the explorer’s usual garb was probably needed.  And, even he had to admit that Greg looked very proper and… not-disgraceful… in his finer wear.

      “From what Sherlock says, I’d say you’re far more recognizable in the city than is Mycroft.  He doesn’t get out of doors very often.  Sherlock says it would take an invitation by the Queen to get him to cross their threshold and only if the invitation promised lunch.  Before you say anything, yes I told him he was a hateful brother and made him sit on the ‘stool of being hateful’ for a good five minutes to reflect on his hatefulness.”

      “Already you’re learning his little ways and how to function as a couple.  Very nicely done, Doctor Watson.  Though, there _is_ a little truth in Sherlock’s evil words and that truth is something this fresh-air loving man is going to try and change.  At least a little.  You should see Mycroft out and about… like a king surveying his kingdom.  It’s a glorious sight.”

      “You’re not going to be one of those evening constitutional types, are you?  That would be disappointing.”

His Mycroft slowly promenading through the streets, lit by lamplight… oh, that was a thrilling mental image…

      “I might, at that.  At least… well, until…”

John felt a few odd and seemingly misplaced blocks in his mind suddenly jump up and make a proper little tower…

      “At least as long as you’re in London, is what you’re trying to say.  That’s why you were in such a state when you returned from seeing Mycroft that last time.  Well, part of the reason, it appears.  We’ve already got another expedition in the works and there is _no_ reason in the world I can imagine Mycroft Holmes dropping his life here and following along.”

      “No… that’s something he won’t be doing.  I wouldn’t… well, I was going to say I wouldn’t let him, but that sounds a bit domineering, doesn’t it?  It’s been on my mind, though.  And, I suppose that’s why I should have been talking to you about all of this earlier.  I’m… I’m hoping to hold off setting a leaving date for awhile so… so Mycroft and I can see how this works.  Know each other better.  That’s what he wants, too, and I can’t say I blame him.  That’s why we’re courting… taking time to learn about the other person.  See if they match well with you, what are their faults and are they tolerable, what are their strengths and do you see value in them.  We don’t have a firm date to go back to Africa, so nobody will be the wiser if we don’t leave quite as soon as we normally do after we’ve returned to the city.  Does that… does that make any sense.  I never thought about how it might affect others, because I’m a selfish arse, but…”

      “Stop, before you hurt your miniature brain.  Yes, it makes sense, a lot of sense, actually.  From what I hear, you’re actually hoping for something… long-lasting.  Not what I particularly associate with you, but, I can say I haven’t thought, on more than occasion, that this sort of thing is what you’ve been looking for.  Think you found it?”

John watched Lestrade fail to keep a large and excited smile off of his face and wondered if Mycroft would be upset if he punched the explorer to knock him back into acting like an adult.  Yes, there would be a bruise, but Greg actually sported bruises quite roguishly, the bastard, and Mr. Holmes might like that sort of thing.

      “I do.  You know I’ve been a bit… generous… with my affections but I’ve never felt like this.  It’s entirely different from anything I’ve experienced and I want to rub my face in it and let all of my senses fill with the wonder.  I… just want to sit and talk with him.  Enjoy a fire and discuss the news of the day.  Take in a simple spot of entertainment, like a museum or a walk in a garden.  Grander things, too, but… the little things, the tiny daily things that I typically don’t give a second thought about now seem special and noteworthy.  I want to be with him, John.  Not just bed him or take in the city with him, but… just _be_ with him.”

      “That certainly doesn’t sound like Greg Lestrade, but I’ve known you were a secret sonnet-writer and ballad-composer for a very long time.”

      “Patently untrue.”

      “How many love poems have you already written.”

      “None.  Can’t think of a word to rhyme with ‘bottom.’ “

      “Ooh, that’s a tough one.  Use ‘bum’ instead.”

      “Nothing good rhymes with that!  Crumb, slum…”

      “Drum?  You want to play his bum like a drum?”

      “No.  Yes, actually, but no.”

      “Plum?  He’s got a bum succulent as a plum?”

      “That has promise.  I need some ink.”

      “Not while I’m in the same building as you.  As soon as you start writing, I’m fairly certain a gateway is going to open to Hell and I’d rather not fall into it while I’m actually getting useful work done.”

Lestrade’s rude noise made both men laugh and John mentally wished his friend the best of luck with his new prospect.  In truth, in very secret truth, he was glad that they’d be in London a little longer than usual.  It was nice to be here, reconnecting with old mates, doing work he couldn’t do in Africa and just getting some of London back in his soul.  He had a new friend, too!  A new and very interesting friend.  Someone who… was absolutely infuriating, but, somehow, made him smile the second he walked into the room and saw that tall, miserable figure standing by a work table.

      “And, now you’re thinking about Sherlock.  Lovely.  Talk about the gateway to Hell.”

      “I am not!”

      “Do you know when I know you’re lying.  Your face.  Your face uglies itself even more with a lie on your lips than your usual level of frightening unattractiveness.  Sherlock’s a good lad, you know.  You could do far worse than having his skeletal body keeping you warm on a chilly night.”

      “And we see, again, why I worry for your sanity.”

      “Of course… now that Mycroft and I understand each other a bit better… it’s not necessarily out of bounds for me to ask about his brother.  Learn the story about his own… likes and dislikes, shall we say.”

      “Not necessary, thank you very much.”

      “There’s that especially ugly face again, so I’ll put that item right on my list of priorities.  Find out from His Majestic Mycroft if his less-than-majestic brother might have an eye for short, ugly men who do have a surprising talent for rhyming rude words.”

      “Very happy with my unattached status, thank you, again, very much.”

Though… there was nothing wrong with information.  Information could never be considered a bad thing.  Especially information he didn’t have to actually acquire himself and raise questions that maybe were a bit delicate to raise if he was the one doing the asking.  Fortunately, Greg had no reputation for tact, social appropriateness or verbal dexterity, so his clumsy blundering through that particular conversation wouldn’t come back to darkly haunt his own door.  Once in awhile his dear friend had his uses…

      “One delicate conversation with my Mycroft set on my priority list.  Don’t you worry, John, you won’t be crying into your apron for very long.”

      “Funny.  Speaking of funny, shouldn’t you be trying to make yourself look like a human and not a farm animal?  The clock is ticking…”

      “Ack!  You’re right.  I haven’t even begun to brush my coat and trousers or give myself a wash… you go on about whatever it was you were doing and I’ll… wash and brush.  And comb.  Polish?  Do I have anything that needs polishing?  I’d better get started or I won’t have time for polishing!”

John just shook his head at the rapid, and entertaining, deterioration of his friend and wasn’t at all surprised when Lestrade crashed into the doorframe before he actually made it out of the door itself.  The poor man was besotted!  Absolutely and positively infatuated and the amusement value of that wasn’t lessening in the least…

__________

Hat, coat, shirt, waistcoat, trousers, braces, shoes, bits hiding under all of that… nothing seemed to have gotten lost on the way.  Good.  Hadn’t fallen into a muck pile either, so that was a blessing.  Admittedly, that was difficult to do while riding in a cab, but a blessing would still be declared.  And, there, right in front of his eyes, was Mycroft’s door, which certainly didn’t have a muck pile or a clothes thief blocking the path, so there shouldn’t be any trouble taking the short walk to announce himself.  Was this procrastination?  It did rather nicely meet the definition.  Definitely time to put a stop to that.  Mycroft wouldn’t be impressed by procrastination.  Get out of cab and go to door.  Very simple.  So… now.

Lestrade heaved a deep breath and stepped out of the cab, straightening everything that could be straightened and walked to the door towards his very first _admitted_ courtship evening with Mycroft Holmes.  What was that?  That tingly sensation on the wind?  That crisp and sparkly smell?  Magic.  That was magic in the air and all of it was to make very nice things happen for Gregory Lestrade.  Oh, this was going to be amazing… was everything straight?  Better check again…

__________

      “Final checks, Mr. Holmes.  There’s a cab just stopped outside.”

Impertinent woman.  But a very good individual for surveillance activities, so some measure of tolerance would be bestowed.  And the final inspections _had_ already occurred.  Thrice.  Everything was as it should be.  Immaculate.  And the rather delicious quantity of bread and butter, as well as cheese and ham, he had consumed to energize his grooming process would, in no manner, interfere with the enjoyment of his first formally-shared meal with Gregory.  And… though her input was entirely unnecessary, Mrs. Hudson’s rather intrusive comments on the presentation of his hair and clothing had not been completely ridiculous.  His mirror confirmed that he cut a noble figure and would not, in the slightest, disgrace Gregory with his presence.  Though, compared to Gregory, an emperor would cut a dowdy and undistinguished figure.  The man was exalted in his level of masculine beauty.

And… the nod to blue _had_ been a prudent decision.  What was the ghastly libation Mrs. Hudson always saw fit to include with his regular spirits order and believed him entirely ignorant of the purchase?  No matter, the purveyor would know and be more than happy to add a few extra with the next delivery.

      “Thank you.  I am not certain of the time of our return, so do feel free to retire at your convenience and consider your work day complete.”

      “Very gracious, sir.  Very considerate.  Oh!  Here he comes!  You’re going to be happy you went to the extra effort, too, Mr. Holmes.  What a handsome couple you’re going to make.  Does my heart good to see this, it really does.”

The knock on the door startled the housekeeper, who giggled at her small jump, then cleared her throat and waited for Mycroft to give her a nod, which took a few seconds to come as he did his own mental throat clearing before giving it.

      “Mr. Lestrade.  Late, as usual.”

      “Mrs. Hudson, Lovely as ever.  And with a tongue as sharp as your wits.”

This giggle preceded the housekeeper standing aside so Lestrade could have his first look at Mycroft, a look which lingered because the explorer felt as exactly as if he was seeing the sun for the first time.  His Homes was magnificent…

      “H… hello, Gregory.”

      “Hello to you, Mycroft.”

Whereas he was extremely facile with communication in most cases, with the exquisite silver-haired man, smiling his most pleased and delighted smile, Mycroft found himself suffering a drought of words.  Gregory was… spectacular.  And… _his_.

      “Well, stop staring at each other and be off with you.  If you’ve decided to change your plans and have Cook prepare dinner, I already gave her the night off, so it’ll be cold mutton and stale bread if you’re lucky.”

  
With those heartfelt words and a truly ferocious female glare spurring them on, the two men shared a private smile and bowed slightly to their overseer before strolling out the door and to the cab.

      “Mycroft… before we’re… in earshot of the cabbie… you look brilliantly handsome tonight.  I… I just wanted you to know that.”

Hoping he wasn’t showing any color on his rather agitated cheeks, Mycroft harrumphed softly and let another smile creep onto his lips.

      “And I return the same compliment to you Gregory.  My breath is utterly taken away.”

Before they could say anymore and appear as love-struck as they felt, the walk continued, with Lestrade letting Mycroft situate first in the cab and then following, tapping the signal for the driver to be on their way.  This was going to be a joy.  A true and pure joy.  His Mycroft was the most striking man in London and that gorgeous body was pressed against his in the most… stimulating fashion imaginable.  And they weren’t even at dinner yet!  Hands… he _would_ find a way to hold Mycroft’s hand tonight.  Just the two of them, in private, he would hold Mycroft’s and further memorize the feel of his skin.  But, that was for later in the evening.  Now, now was for other things.  For example, didn’t Mycroft make the nicest of noises when someone wriggled slightly against him to get a tad more comfortable.  Yes… yes he did… and they had a full cab ride to see how many of them his Mycroft could make…


	15. Chapter 15

Gregory Lestrade… if you reposition yourself once more so that you massage my body with your sinuous contortions, I shall be forced to remain in this cab for some time after our arrival at dinner to allow my humors to reestablish equilibrium.  Though, by all means, do not let that stop you…

      “And here we are!”

Drat.  Or not.  This was a _highly_ pleasing, and unexpected, choice of restaurants.  The exquisiteness of the cuisine would take some small measure of sting from the loss of Gregory’s writhing caresses.

      “A fine choice, Gregory.  Their selections are most palatable.”

Something Lestrade had taken pains to ensure.  A little inquring for a restaurant appropriate for an ‘important dinner concerning business’ gained him this suggestion from several people and, wasn’t it fortunate that a pre-inspection further gained him the knowledge that Mr. Mycroft Holmes was a highly-valued patron.

      “I’m glad you’re pleased.  Good food, good wine, good company… this is going to be a fine night.  Shall we?”

Lestrade grinned and hopped down, paying the cab while Mycroft made his way out of the hansom.  It also gave Mycroft a moment to look about and reassure himself that he was actually there.  That this was not a dream or hallucination.  He was preparing to enjoy a true evening out with someone who courted his attention and hoped to see such a thing continue into the future.  It _was_ dreamlike, but the lingering feel of the explorer’s body pressed against his was firm reminder that this dream was actually a blissful reality.

      “Ready?”

      “I am most ready, Gregory.”

Motioning Mycroft forward, Lestrade fell in a step behind, keeping an eye out for anyone daring to impede his Mycroft’s entrance into the restaurant.  He wanted everyone inside to see what he saw when he looked at this regal man… the most majestic person in London out for a night among the common people.

      “Mr. Holmes!  It is a pleasure, sir.”

The maître d’hotel darted over and smiled graciously, very happy one of his favorite customers was gracing them with his presence.  His very wealthy customer with impeccable taste, to whom all courtesies would ever be extended.  The recommendations by Mr. Holmes, alone, of their fine establishment to other wealthy and reputable gentlemen made for a very happy owner, which meant a very happy _staff_ and wasn’t that a thing to be celebrated and treated with all due respect.

      “Mr. Jenkins, it is always a delight.  Have you met, Mr. Gregory Lestrade, the renown explorer?”

Mycroft found himself nearly pushing Lestrade into the spotlight but felt no shame over the fact.  This was the man who was now on his proverbial arm and everyone should see him and be allowed to bask in the glow of his luminous smile.  Though no mention would be made of how utterly juvenile that last bit sounded, even in his head.  It was still, however, unerringly true…

      “Yes, Mr. Lestrade, how are you?  We have a table prepared exactly to your specifications.  If you would follow me.”

Lestrade grinned at Mycroft’s cocked eyebrow and made another ‘after you’ gesture so Mycroft could be shown to the table the explorer had picked during his previous visit.  Quiet and out of the main bustle of the room, yet fully in view of everyone who was there or who would enter later.  His Mycroft was visible to everyone, but not surrounded on all sides by people who would likely annoy with their chattering and foolishness.  A hearty dinner with pleasant conversation, yet Mycroft wasn’t going to be irritated by the activity going on around them.  He’d known Mycroft long enough to realize that irritations, like _people_ , did not sit terribly well with the man who was currently looking at their table with an expression that yelled approval to the high heavens.

      “I hope this satisfies, gentlemen.”

The tiny smile sprouting on Mycroft’s face told Lestrade that ‘satisfied’ was precisely the right word for their small island in the busy establishment and he gave himself a jolly-well-done mental pat on the back for his planning.

      “It’s perfect.  We’ve a lot to talk about and this is just the thing for it.”

      “Excellent, Mr. Lestrade.  Do enjoy your meal, gentlemen.”

Lestrade quelled the urge to hold out Mycroft’s chair for him and took his seat, instead, adoring how precisely and elegantly his dining partner moved to take his own a moment later.

      “This is a stellar placement, Gregory.  I do appreciate the forethought.”

      “I wagered you’d prefer something a tad less busy.”

      “Though you would prefer to be center stage.”

      “HA!  Not really.  But, sometimes.  It depends, honestly.  If I want to enjoy my meal and the person or people with me, then I’m happier with something like this.  If I’m hoping for notice, then it’s a different tale.  Have people stop and say hello or ask questions, make some plans to talk further about what I do… now and again I do have a meal at a decent restaurant just for that purpose, especially after one of my talks and, more often than not, I’ll have a few interested parties pass a word or two with me and that’s good publicity for me _and_ the RGS.”

      “Very wise.  One uses the talents and resources one has to accomplish one’s goals.”

      “Exactly!  But, I suspect your goals lean more towards _not_ drawing attention to yourself if you’re out with someone for an evening.  Have one of your secret chats that doesn’t seem so secret since you’re out in the open, but you still don’t want a legion of ears hearing what you have to say.”

Yes!  Another of Mycroft’s pleased smiles.  Perhaps he should look for a basket to carry all of those treasures away with him when they left for the evening.

      “Very observant of you.  There _are_ certain circumstances where a public meeting is appropriate and desired by the various concerned parties, but attention to such a meeting is not something to be encouraged.”

      “I do try to be observant when I can.  It helps greatly with what I do.  The little shadow that just moved a tiny bit… might be a leaf waving in the breeze or something else is making it move.  If you don’t notice, you can’t begin to prepare yourself for the latter.  It’s a shame to lose a leg over being a bit oblivious.”

      “I can see where that would hinder your career most terribly.”

      “It surely would.  John won’t be dragging me on a litter, that much is certain.  I wouldn’t mind, the leisure would be a marvelous thing, but he’s a testy bas… person at the best of times.”

This smile of Mycroft’s was returned fully by Lestrade who congratulated himself on maintaining his couth while they were in public.  In private, his rough tongue would make more than a few appearances, in more than a few enjoyable ways, but propriety was important to his Mycroft, so propriety he would have.

      “I have no doubt the industrious doctor would see you safely, at minimum, away from the immediate danger, however, your continued participation in the expedition while in the reclining position might not be to his liking, I will admit.”

      “It’s a shame, too, because that might actually be nice for a change.  All the walking!  Dawn to dusk and beyond sometimes…”

      “Something you heartily enjoy, Gregory.  Your affected frustration is wholly transparent.”

As is the mischievous little boy smile that you wear so well.  Scoundrel.

      “You caught me.  I do enjoy it.  Being outdoors, gulping great lungsful of clean air.  A drenching rain isn’t a delightful time, but a slow drizzle that helps cool your head and settle the dust?  That can be fantastic.  Explore the world on my own two feet and build some impressive legs while I’m at it.  Nothing wrong with that!”

Gregory’s legs were certainly not to be discussed in public.  The words necessary would create a scandal from which the family name would never recover.  His calves alone must be… oh, dear heavens, Gregory’s thighs…

      “Mycroft?  Are you alright?”

      “What?  Oh!  Yes, do pardon me.  I was envisioning your scenario in my mind and the level of detail somewhat usurped my attention.”

Lestrade’s expression indicated well his level of belief of Mycroft’ statement, but there would be no confirmation or denial coming from Mycroft if his very life depended upon it.

      “And there’s a lot of detail to contemplate, too.  So much information to take in and with all the senses!  That’s one thing you have to be able to do while you’re there – use and rely on everything you’re born with to know your surroundings.  I suspect you do a lot of that, too.  Maybe not smell, so much, or taste, but, then, maybe you do.  I imagine you have to use every clue at your disposal to get the full picture of what sort of business you’re on about that day and not a single one from any sense doesn’t get used somehow.  Am I right?”

      “You are extremely astute, Gregory.  A person’s words are only one source of information, other sources coming from, as you say, use of other senses.  The full picture is the critical factor and missed information can lead to a decidedly unsuccessful outcome.”

      “It’s odd that, even though we’re very different in what we do and who we are, it doesn’t mean we don’t overlap now and again, nonetheless.”

And, by overlap, please realize very clearly, Mycroft, I do mean that in a rather filthy way and I am ready to make a start on that rather filthy way as soon as you give me the signal.  I’m willing to wait for that signal as long as it takes, too, so don’t rush.  What we’re doing is certainly something to be savored…

      “It is not something I would have predicted, in that you are correct.  But, I suppose there are common roots for the skills that make a man a success, regardless of profession.”

      “I think you’re right.  And… ah.  Here we go, would you care for some wine, Mr. Holmes?”

Mycroft looked up at the man patiently waiting to be acknowledged and nodded his approval at Lestrade.

      “That I would, Mr. Lestrade.  Might I do the choosing?  I have a particular favorite they cellar and believe it will be very much to your liking.”

Hoping Mycroft had a clear idea that he was not a manor-owning man, Lestrade smiled and leaned back in his chair.

      “Be my guest.  I have full confidence in your taste for wine.”

Something that made Mycroft quite happy, though, he would steer away from several of his usual possibilities due to their rather steep cost and choose, as their first offering, something most enjoyable, yet gentle on the purse.  There was no doubt his Gregory would insist on paying for their outing and the few inquiries he had made about the estimate for the explorer’s income made _gentle_ the wiser decision, by far.  However, as with all things, cost was not a clear indicator of quality and he knew a great number of excellent wines to be had for a very good price.

After the wine selection was made the menu arrived and Lestrade was thrilled that his dining partner showed no hesitancy about ordering two first course options, as well as the heartiest of choices for his entrée and issued the mandate that a cheese tray be delivered to table early and left to linger after their meal to enjoy with their final taste of spirits.  His Mycroft was a man of impressive appetites and that was a brilliant thing to his mind.  And, oh yes, there would be several spirits tonight to sample… just perfect for loosening those impressive appetites so the flustering would be far less if he took the smallest of liberties with his Mycroft’s skin.  Perfect…

      “Oh, this is a very nice wine, Mycroft.  You have a talent for it, don’t you?  Knowing the best and finest and most delightful of whatever you happen to want.”

      “I… thank you, Gregory.  I do hold a philosophy that if one should have something, one should have the best one can obtain.  It is rather a waste to settle for less.”

      “Something I completely agree with!  You want good chair, you wait and look and talk to the sellers and furniture makers until you find exactly the one you want at the price you can afford.   Don’t settle for one that hurts your back because its cheap or that looks a fright even if it’s the most expensive in the shop.  The best for you, that’s the smart plan.  But then, you _are_ the smartest man there is, so I expect no less.”

Flattery will get you… well, rather far, perhaps, so do continue, my dear Gregory.

      “How cogently you express my small dictum.  I am ever impressed by your ability to express your ideas and opinions in ways that cut straight to the heart of the matter and avoid the cluttering of superfluous minutiae.  It is a valuable talent and one too infrequently seen in modern society.”

Lestrade hoped he was not beaming as brightly as he feared because blinding the other diners with his glow bouncing off their china and crystal would probably have him standing in front of the magistrate before he even saw the soup!

      “Glad my few years of school did me a bit of good!”

      “I would say they certainly did.  But, out of curiosity, how many is ‘few?’ “

      “In total, not many, I suppose.  The wife of the vicar would give lessons in reading, writing and sums.  Now and again she’d read from books on history or nature, as well as the Bible, and if you could afford a slate to bring with you and behaved yourself, you were welcome to join the lessons.  I went when I was able and the vicar, himself, lent me books to read about foreign lands.  Rollicking tales of adventure and people I’d never heard of!  They were the most exciting things I’d ever read and I must have read each book a dozen times, each time just as eagerly as the last.”

      “Thus your taste for exploration was born.”

      “I think it was, actually.  I realized just how large was the world outside our village.  Outside of England, truth be told.  And I wanted to learn about it.  See it with my own eyes.”

      “If I may ask, what was your father’s occupation?  Did he not want you to follow in his path?”

      “I can’t say he didn’t, but he realized that life wasn’t for me and didn’t try to hold me back when I started off for the docks looking for a way to see the world.  He owned a proper tavern, my father did.  My mum cooked and tended the two rooms we had upstairs for the occasional traveler passing through.  When he died, my mum kept it going with a hired man to give her some help and ran it herself nearly until she died.  She sold it to the man who worked for her and was able to live her last years comfortably without anything to worry about except the insects doing a mischief with her flowers.  I visited every time I could, though.  Every time I was back in England and I wrote.  I wrote a LOT and made certain neither of them ever thought I forgot them or wasn’t proud of who I was when I was at home.”

      “I have no doubt you made every effort to maintain your ties with your family, as the dutiful son you were.  Did they… were they content with your choice of work?”

      “They were worried, at first, because I started loading ships and that’s rough work in rough places.  But, I finally found a small expedition that needed extra hands and I took a berth with them.  I didn’t do much more than follow orders and do what I was told, but I asked every question I could think of and paid close attention to everything we did and saw.  How to talk to people to get what you need, who wants a bit of coaxing to make a decision your way… financial coaxing, if you know what I mean… what names were important ones to know if I wanted to do something like that on my own.  It took a good number of years, but I finally felt ready to approach the RGS and discuss organizing an expedition of my own.  I had good men I knew I could count on and a basic plan for where I wanted to go and why, along with a few letters in my pocket to vouch for my character, how hard-working I was and… well, that I was good at exploring!  That, and a large bit of luck that they were hoping to see another expedition mount in the coming year, got me my first chance to prove myself.”

      “And the proof came in plentiful supply, I am most certain.”

      “They kept me on, so I’d say I made a good show of it.  Wasn’t one of the large expeditions, just a small group, but we did good work.  Brought back some important things for the botanists and other academics to work on and had the cartographers happy with the extra bits we’d mapped.  Work hard, do your best… it’s my way with everything, I suppose.  Fortunately, it serves me well in life.”

Mycroft felt his chest fill with pride for his dining companion and, further for himself, because this exceptional individual looked upon him and _wanted_.  It was a heady thing to contemplate and, sometimes, he still struggled to believe his good fortune.

      “That it does and, moreover, presents you as a man of integrity and fortitude.”

      “Well, like does attract like…”

The shy smile on Mycroft’s lips had the inner Greg Lestrade doing a jubilant jig and it was only the delivery of the first course of their dinner that made the jig settle so his fork didn’t tremble as he lifted his food to his face.

      “And our lovely dinner begins.  I hope you don’t mind a slow meal, Mycroft, because I suspect I’m going to take my time and enjoy every bit of this.”

Mind?  Slowly savoring the delicious morsels that were brought to them and sipping excellent examples of the establishment’s wine and spirits stocks?  All the while engaging in stimulating and entertaining conversation?  No, he did not mind in the least…

__________

One long, leisurely dinner.  Yes.  The most wonderful opportunity to simply relax and enjoy treating his Mycroft as he deserved.  Yes.  Mycroft’s half-hearted attempt to take the responsibility of payment firmly squashed?  Yes.  A close-pressed hansom ride to return to Mycroft’s welcoming house?  Yes.  A warm fire and an excellent brandy in hand?  Happily yes.  But not as happily yes as his Mycroft losing the smallest bit of the formality necessary when they were in public together.  That was the most splendid part of the evening.  Mycroft’s smile, his full smile and laugh, alone was enough to make this ridiculous explorer’s heart sing.

      “Gregory Lestrade… you cannot have me believe that you used a hippopotamus as a raft to cross a river.”

      “I did!  It liked me, so I had a ride across while the others had to swim.  Very sweet thing she… or he… was, too.  That’s not always the case, though.  They can overturn a boat and cause true havoc for the people in it, so they’re not to be taken lightly, no matter how adorable they look in the drawings.”

      “I still believe you guilty of some degree of storytelling, but I will grant that the image of you floating on a hippopotamus, much like an Egyptian king on their barge, is worth the modicum of insincerity.”

      “Can I have people fanning me with those enormous fans?”

      “As many as you like, as long as the combined weight does not take you to the bottom of the Nile.”

      “Where there are crocodiles.  They might be worse than hippopotami.”

      “The contest would certainly be an interesting one.”

Both men laughed and Mycroft wondered when he had ever felt so comfortable with another human being.  Their discussions were so frivolous at times, yet he relished the frivolity in ways he would never have dreamed.  Never had he dared let himself show the slightest bit of affable whimsy, but with his Gregory… it was a natural thing.  Within these walls and with this person, he could release his iron control and explore more of who he was as a man.

      “Absolutely.  In fact…”

Lestrade patted the empty space on the sofa next to him and smiled as hopefully as he could.

      “… you might consider joining me here so we can discuss that in more depth.”

Eep!  Gregory desired proximity!  Not enforced by circumstance, but voluntary!  Oh dear, this was… well, it was not properly described as unexpected, but his nerves seemed to feel kinship with the term and they were very much in charge of things at the moment! Exploring who he was as a man, he’d thought.  This was certainly categorized as exploration!  But that would occur only if his legs actually propelled him to take the offered seat and await what Gregory next had in mind.  As timidness did not define him in any measure or manner, his legs had best begin working and bring him to his fate.  As of now.  Good heavens, appendages, move!

Slowly and with a hesitance that Lestrade could not fail to notice, Mycroft rose from his armchair and carefully took a seat next to the explorer, maintaining a respectable distance between them, which Lestrade halved in one small budge.

      “There… isn’t this nice?”

      “It… it is most comfortable.”

      “That it is.  And, I believe we were discussing me as the king of Egypt.  I have to say, in all honesty, I think I’m not the king here.  That would certainly be you.  That’s how you strike me, Mycroft.  You’re so majestic, you make everyone else look common and crude by comparison.  That gorgeous face, the way you walk, how you hold yourself, your manner of speaking… my knees go weak every time I see you.  I may be a scandalously handsome man, Mycroft Holmes, but, compared to you, I may as well be a sheep.  An attractive sheep with exceptionally-fine wool, but still a sheep.  And I really believe that.  You fill my eyes, Mycroft, and my heart beats faster when I see you.  And, when I touch you… can I?  May I hold your hand, even if only for a moment?”

If his heart lodged any more firmly in his throat, Mycroft was absolutely certain he would choke himself to an early grave.  Gorgeous?  Weakened knees?  A swiftly-beating heart!  And hands!!  The holding of hands!  Not to soothe or to quiet, but to experience and enjoy.  This was incredible!  It was positively beyond belief!  And he should actually provide a verbal response because Gregory was beginning to look terribly disappointed…

      “You… you may.”

Yes!  Fly away disappointment to wherever… disappointing things go, and return my Gregory’s smile.  In Galileo’s name… if Sherlock ever gains the oft-mentioned mind-reading ability, the treacly timbre of thought in this heretofore-described gorgeous and majestic head might prove fatal.  Or at least coma-inducing.  Either of which would make the house a far more restful place, truth be told.  Perhaps it was time to consult a spiritualist on the matter…

      “Thank you, Mycroft.  Thank you, kindly.”

Lestrade slid his hand across the top of Mycroft’s and curled his fingers, lifting Mycroft’s hand and turning on the sofa so he could cradle it in both of his own.  The trembling hand he held was enough proof that this small bit of contact was profoundly impacting his Holmes and there was a wonder in that which filled his soul full to the brim.  Oh yes, taking things slow certainly had its benefits…

      “Perfect.  But I don’t expect anything else since you are a wonderfully-perfect individual.  I’ve imagined this since the last time we saw each other.  Often, actually.  Getting to hold your hand again and feel your warm, smooth skin.  I’m very happy you’re not a woman, because holding your hand on our first evening together would have your brother calling me out as a cad and that would certainly interrupt our lovely evening in a very unpleasant fashion.”

Mycroft felt himself smiling despite the nearly paralyzing sensation igniting his body.  His Gregory was holding his hand!  His grasp was warm and strong, but achingly tender and careful as if he was supporting something delicate and precious.  It was enough to make him weep with joy, if he was given to demonstrations of emotion.  Which he was not.  Oh heavens, was he trembling…

      “Sh…Sherlock would likely name you a buffoon, instead.”

      “You’re probably right.  And, since that’s not something to duel over, I can do this and not worry about a thing.”

Slowly stroking his thumb across Mycroft’s skin, Lestrade hid the hitch in his breath when _Mycroft’s_ breath hitched at the action.

      “Delightful as I remembered.  No fine food or drink can compare to the deliciousness of touching your skin, Mr. Holmes.  Doesn’t even come close.  I know it’s not proper to talk that way and I’m probably scandalizing you horribly…”

      “It… it is… I do not object.”

How could he?  No, it was not proper.  It was wildly beyond the bounds of propriety, however… how could he object to those words in his ear?  To his Gregory’s roughened and calloused hand tantalizing his own in such indescribable ways… 

      “Good.  I want you to tell me, though.  If there _is_ an objection, I mean.  I’m an explorer, Mycroft, and a daring one, at that.  Sometimes that gets me into a spot of trouble, so I want you to say so if I cross a line that makes you uncomfortable or unhappy.  If you want me to move more slowly or just stay where we are for awhile until you’re ready to move further.  I want you to be happy, Mycroft.  Most of all, I want you to be happy with me and with us.  Please let me know if something is interfering with that.  Please don’t hesitate, not for one moment.”

This should not reassure him to such a degree, but Mycroft felt profound relief that the stunning, virile man holding his hand was so patient and considerate of his… naiveté.  Not that it had been discussed aloud in any depth, but Gregory surely sensed his inexperience in such matters and to know that would be respected… the ease it brought to his mind was substantial.

      “I shall not.  And for both your awareness and nobility, you have my gratitude.”

      “It’s not necessary, but I’ll thank you for it anyway.  Just as I’ll thank you for dinner tonight.  It was brilliant, Mycroft, simply brilliant.  I’m… I’m thrilled that I can do that with you.  We can go out into the city and enjoy ourselves whenever we’d like, enjoy all London has to offer with nobody being the wiser.”

Was it a good time to begin his secret mission?  There probably wouldn’t be a better time, so this was good enough and he’d done far more on far less.

      “I would like to know though, just for… well, just to make communication a touch more… something or another… does Sherlock know about you?  Or us?”

Lestrade gripped Mycroft’s hand slightly tighter sensing the surprise stab into the larger man’s frame.

      “Ah.  Yes, I can envision how that might complicate matters with yours and my brother’s interactions if he was in the proverbial dark about the situation.  Sherlock _does_ know about my tendencies and has for a very long time.  And… it was perhaps somewhat disrespectful to you to share the news of our change of circumstance, however, he had somewhat gleaned the truth himself and lying to Sherlock is not something that produces positive results for very long.  He will be discreet about the situation, however, if you are concerned.  He knows well the damage to be done if the truth were to be made public and has pledged not to endanger either of our reputations.”

      “Good!  And I’m glad the lad knows, actually.  It will make things easier for me as I’m terrible at hiding things from people.”

Drop some crumbs, you stupid explorer.  Don’t waste the opportunity!

      “I told John about me, actually, fairly early on when I got to know him.  He was like Sherlock, in a way…. already had his suspicions and it was easier to tell him, knowing he was an honorable and loyal chap, than trying to hide things.”

This stab of surprise was a bit more forceful and Lestrade kept his knowing smile to himself as Mycroft processed the information.

      “John knows you desire men?”

      “He knows I go for both, actually.”

If he wasn’t holding Mycroft’s hand tightly, Lestrade was certain his Holmes would be flailing his arms about in agitated surprise, much like a chicken startled by a fox.

      “Both!  Gregory… truly?  You… that is actually possible?”

      “Do you really not know?”

      “I… I have heard talk, however, it is sometimes difficult to properly analyze furtive whispers.”

      “True is true.  And, for your information, yes, I appreciate both the male and the female form.  I’ve known since… well, since such things were of interest to me, I suppose.  Lusted equally after the lad who delivered the meat as the lass who delivered the bread.  Needless to say I kept the ‘lad’ bit to myself, but that didn’t stop me admiring how he wore his trousers, if you know what I mean.”

No, Mycroft truly didn’t, but he could imagine and those imaginings both titillated him and lit a tiny furnace in his core that was sharp in its sourness.

      “Look at you… Mycroft Holmes, you’re jealous of a boy I haven’t seen in decades!”

      “Jealous!  I protest most forcefully.  I feel no such thing.”

It was difficult to feel _anything_ with his nerves being eaten by acid.

Lestrade smiled wickedly and lifted Mycroft’s hand, providing a soft, dry peck on the knuckles.

      “If I had a mirror handy, you’d call yourself a liar without me having to say another word.”

Words?  What were words?  His Gregory had kissed his person!  Laid lips against skin and the fire of that gesture was… where were his words!  He had _scads_ of them and not a one saw fit to show its face when it was most needed!  Quivering cowards…

      “And you shouldn’t be, Mycroft.  Jealous, I mean.  There’s no one that’s held me in their spell more tightly than you, no one handsomer or with a more stimulating mind.  I’d go on, but you’re already flustered and too much of that isn’t good for a body, which is an especially bad thing since I’m hoping to have you with me healthy and happy for a very long time.”

Sitting quietly a moment, Lestrade let Mycroft’s brain work through whatever it needed to bring his lovely man back to calm and was proud it took longer than expected for Mycroft to pull together his wits.  Gregory Lestrade was something of a force to be reckoned with and that was certainly worth boasting about!  Even if only to one’s self…

      “I… I am most certain your interest in the youth has long since waned.”

      “Never waxed especially strong, truth be told.  No more than a passing fancy.  Not nearly what I felt when I first met you.  _That_ was something special.  Something unique.  As unique as you.”

Mycroft’s heart was near to beating as normal again and he considered his internals placated for the time being.  What an extraordinary visceral response!  Jealousy!  The outlandish behaviors and reactions of those poor fools consumed by jealousy in the novels and newspaper items was now… rather understandable.  Heavens, but that was a distressing emotion.  Sherlock’s concerns about his behaviors should someone actually vie for Gregory’s attentions were, perhaps, on sounder footing than he had believed…

      “And I _will_ be loyal to you, Mycroft, if that’s a worry.   I know I’m a touch… friendly… with people and that I smile and chat and may enjoy attention a tiny bit too greatly, but I _am_ loyal.  Faithful, if you will.  I’m courting you and that means nobody else gets my rather considerable charms for more than a smile, laugh or a little conversation.  But there _will_ be smiles, laughs and conversations, so don’t use your kingly powers to banish any poor bastard that might be lucky enough to earn one of my very bright and brilliant grins, alright?”

Banish?  How ridiculous.  Execute… that was another matter.  A far more _final_ matter with no chance of sneaking back across the border to continue to woo the exceptional man now more ardently stroking his hand and reigniting his internals to a rather extraordinary level.

      “Someone likes a spot of attention themselves, it seems.  Such a wonderful hand.  Suits you, too.  Elegant, but powerful.  Look at these fingers… Sherlock plays the violin with those long fingers of his.  What do you do with these long fingers of _yours_ , Mr. Holmes?”

And, yes, I would adore a sordid answer, but I know I have to wait awhile for that so I’ll create one in my mind in the meantime, if you don’t mind, dear Mycroft.  It’ll be fiery enough for us both, so don’t worry about being left out of the fun.

      “I… good heavens…”

That was incontrovertibly salacious!  You can no longer fool me with your façade of innocent utterings, Gregory Lestrade.  You are _highly_ aware of the tinge of your words and you revel in it, you evil man.  Whatever you do in this life, _please_ do not change, note even a mote, though your words do highly agitating things to my physiology.

      “… I have some small talent for drawing.  In my youth, I also practiced the piano-forte, though I no longer play unless I am visiting Mummy and she requests it.”

      “Amazing!  My Mycroft is a very talented man.  And I’ll get to hear you play soon, so that’s a piece of luck I can appreciate.”

‘My’ Mycroft.  Oh Gregory, you do make it outrageously difficult to control the rising emotions in my chest.  What a treasure you are… however…

      “I do beg your pardon, but why do you believe you shall hear me play?”

      “Because I’m visiting your mum and I’ll make certain of it.”

Ack!  How could he forget the incipient Armageddon!  The decline of his mental faculties was a national, nay!, an _international_ disaster!  Alarms must be sounded and the military put on the highest of alerts!

      “Oh, yes.  I had forgotten about Mummy’s little gathering.  Are you still hoping to attend?”

      “I sent my acceptance straight off.  So did John.  I know!  You and Sherlock can give a concert.  That would be a grand thing to watch and hear.  I have no doubt you’re brilliant with music and, as we know, Sherlock is a virtuoso on the violin.  He says so often enough, so it must be true.”

      “Gregory…”

      “Mycroft…”

Here, let me run my fingers rather suggestively over yours and smile while I do it so that warning glare you’re giving me vanishes and your hand gets fluttery again because you’re thinking about nice things and not scolding me for using your mum as a tool in my mischief.

      “I am certain we will have no time for such a thing.”

      “I am certain we _will_ because I suspect we’ll be there for more than a night, don’t you?  I can’t imagine your Mum letting me, a world-famous explorer, go home after only one dinner, do you?  Surely there’s a luncheon to be had or tea in the garden with the ladies in the area whose eyes she wants to spit in.  I’m exceptional for that.  Been used many times for some society eye-spitting and it’s spit that sticks, let me tell you.”

The smallest of smiles crept out of Mycroft and Lestrade awarded himself credit for learning how to draw his companion out of his fluster when it was needed.

      “Gregory Lestrade, does your ego have any bounds?”

      “None I’ve found yet.  But, I _am_ an explorer, so I keep looking.  It’s unbelievable what you can find when you look to map your ego’s territory, too.  All sorts of interesting things.  It’s a career in and of itself.”

      “You are utterly incorrigible.”

      “That’s true.  But a corrigible man wouldn’t have the good fortune of holding your hand, now would he?  No… takes a truly incorrigible one to win that honor.”

Mycroft was slowly feeling his insides return to normal, though they would never reach true equilibrium since his Gregory was continuing to lavish such tender attention on the hand he still held in his manly grasp.

      “Perhaps you are correct.  I have… I have never experienced such and I have, also, never encountered such an unrepentant rascal.”

      “Then there you have it.  But, I _will_ try and mute my rascally nature a tad for your Mum so she doesn’t have a few strong lads toss me out of her house.  John will be there and he’s good at keeping my rascalness in check if it’s starting to run amok.”

And, at the mention of John’s name, Mycroft had a question rise in his own mind on the subject of knowledge.

      “Gregory… might I inquire if you have shared the news of our association with John?”

      “I have, though, again, he’d rather fathomed it out on his own anyway.  He’s the one person in a position to notice if I’m buying a new shirt or having my shoes shined and, also, to connect it with paying you a visit.  He won’t say anything, though, no more than Sherlock.  John’s a very decent fellow and I couldn't ask for a better friend, besides…”

Crumbs!  Big, tasty crumbs…

      “… secrets shared make _stalwart_ friends, don’t they?”

      “Is that a riddle?”

      “No.  Just… confidences grow stronger when they go both ways.  Right?”

      “That was not particularly edifying.”

      “Mycroft, you are the smartest man in the world, so how can you not be following my meaning?”

      “Gregory, my dear…”

Mycroft cleared his throat with as much rumble as he could and valiantly ignored Lestrade’s elated smile over the small endearment that had just leapt into the conversation.

…it is as if I am staring into a dark stand of trees and you are asserting that a shining path winds within.”

      “Oh, I will be remembering that ‘my dear,’ Mycroft.  Take that to bed to give me sweet dreams…”

Mycroft’s hesitant, but hopeful eyes gave Lestrade’s heart another flip.  A few more of those and it could be an acrobat in a circus!

“… but, back to the shining path… a thief doesn’t point the finger at another thief, does he?”

      “Thieves?  Now, the ship of my comprehension is thoroughly becalmed.”

AAARRGGGHHHH!!!  The most intelligent man in England was clueless as a fencepost!

      “John’s a bloke who prefers blokes _and_ ladies, just like me!  I can’t be any plainer, god help me, but I can’t.  Tell me that’s enough, Mycroft, or I may weep.”

Any and all distraught weeping would have to wait because Mycroft looked like he’d been struck by lightning and there was tutting and now-nowing to do to keep the man he was courting among the living.

      “Now, the only reason I’m saying anything…”

Is for you to encourage your brother to turn his eyes in a certain direction and make John a happy person, instead of the miserable and frustrated doctor that he usually was.

      “… is the same reason that I wanted to know about Sherlock.  You’re seeing John now and again and I suspect that’s going to become more frequent as he and Sherlock continue to work together.  Your immense brain was going to realize things soon enough and, this way, it’s out in the open and everyone knows what’s what.  Be aware, though, that John’s not as… well, he still has a little trouble accepting who he is.  Part of him wants to be like most men and he’ll make a very visible show of noticing women and taking them out on his arm.  But he’s not blind to what else… or _who_ else… piques his interest.  Just a little more reluctant to admit it.  I live in hope that, man or woman, someone drops into John’s life to make him happy.  He’s a fine fellow and has a great deal to offer someone who appreciates intelligence, humor, dedication, a strong and courageous heart… listen to me go on.  Like I was trying to match make the poor man!”

Which I _am_ and if the seed isn’t firmly planted in your brain, Mr. Holmes, then I’m a spectacular failure as a meddling busybody.

      “J… John?”

      “What about him?”

      “John is…”

      “Many things.  Excellent doctor, good with a gun, a terrible jester, unfortunately, but one can’t have everything…”

      “John …”

More tut-tutting and now-nowing followed as Lestrade soothed the man rather amusingly coming apart like a poorly-made coat and marveled that someone as brilliant and mature as Mycroft could actually be shocked by… well, by anything!  This was going to make their romantic adventures a world of fun!

      “Take a moment, Mycroft and just breathe.  Yes, you’ve had two oddities under your nose and didn’t notice a thing.  Which is what _should_ happen, of course, since who we choose to give a cuddle to at night only affects the night-cuddling parts of our lives and that’s certainly nobody’s business but our own.  Didn’t think you’d fallen into a pit of deviance, is that it?”

      “What?  No!  No, good heavens… no.  The hypocrisy of that would be disgraceful.  I am simply… I know that there are men who share my tastes.  It is not spoken of in polite company and I have done nothing to seek out others with my leanings for any form of camaraderie.  Not because I am disgusted by my nature, but for the possibility of exposure, which is something I cannot afford.  I was, genuinely, unaware how easily such notice might slip by me.  I protested most forcefully to Sherlock that you were not a man like myself and I never suspected the slightest thing about Doctor Watson.  I… I am aghast at my lack of perception.”

      “I don’t think you should be.  The mind closes itself off, sometimes, when it’s already convinced in a certain direction.  You don’t expect to find many people like me or John and, so, you don’t look for us.  Don’t count it as an option when you shake our hand.  Which is advantageous, really.  For me and John, that is.  My Mycroft’s just not used to being fooled, is he?”

Lestrade smiled his most understanding smile and clasped Mycroft’s hand firmly between his own, this time bestowing another extremely chaste kiss, but on the tips of Mycroft’s fingers.

      “I… that is to say…”

How is my mind supposed to function when it is being discombobulated by your manly wiles!  I shall be an imbecile in my own home with your continued paying of calls and won’t Mrs. Hudson find that inexpressibly amusing.  Though she _will_ express it loudly and often.

      “I somewhat… there is perhaps some… your analysis may have some merit.”

Sputtered while Mycroft’s eyes never left his fingertips, where Lestrade’s kiss had been placed.  Something that pleased the explorer to no end.

      “Well, it’s doesn’t matter anymore, because now you have the facts and there won’t be any further surprises.  At least, not of that sort.  I’m a _wealth_ of surprises, if I’m allowed to boast, so you can expect them with some frequency if you choose to keep this raggedly old dog around you for any amount of time, but, I suspect who I am and what I want no longer offers you any surprise whatsoever..”

      “No, no I suppose it does not.”

Would Mycroft ever stop staring at his fingertips?  Poor man seemed to have suffered a bit of a fixation.  No reason not take advantage of what was helpfully being offered.

      “Would you like a little more evidence to work with?”

This time, Mycroft’s eyes lifted to look directly into Lestrade’s and the determined ‘yes,’ had the explorer’s inner rascal jumping with glee.

      “Alright, then…”

One tiny, gentle kiss graced each of Mycroft’s fingertips and Lestrade was proud that he could hold the trembling hand still well enough to complete his mission.

      “Gregory…”

      “Yes?”

Mycroft’s mind seemed to be working frantically and the small amount of repositioning on the couch gave Lestrade a strong hint about what his dear Mycroft was wrestling with and wasn’t that the highest compliment of all.  Mycroft Holmes nicely hard from just a few innocent kisses.  Well, maybe not innocent, but certainly not the ones he’d give this glorious man when said glorious man’s constitution would be able to manage them…

      “Is this…”

      “Is this what?”

      “Should this be so wonderful?”

If he listened hard, Lestrade was certain he could hear his heart breaking from the nearly disbelieving tone in Mycroft’s voice.  How was it possible that nobody had ever shown this man any affection?  He felt sure that Mycroft had never experienced even the slightest flirtation to remember and think on when he was feeling lonely and that was nothing less than a crime.  Needless to say, lack of affection was, now, an issue of the dark and distant past…

      “Yes, it should.  And it _is_ wonderful, too.  That’s exactly the word I would use and I’ll further say I’ve not experienced anything _as_ wonderful in all my days.  I’ve not formally courted anyone before, Mycroft.  Never found anyone who made me feel the way I do when we’re together or when I think of you during my day.  I’d say wonderful is precisely how this is supposed to be.”

Mycroft tried again to will his body to cool and found as little success as with the first attempt.  It was all so much!  How this, so minor and innocent in the grand scheme, could disturb him to such a degree was absolutely inexplicable.  He had brokered the most critical treaties and negotiated policies that influenced the course of government in numerous nations and none of it… not a bit of it stirred his passions and emotions as strongly as the ecstasy of Gregory’s lips upon his flesh.

      “And we’re only starting, Mycroft.  Just a few steps along the trail.”

      “Wh… which would delight any intrepid explorer.”

      “Oh yes.  The beginning is always an exciting place to be.  And, all along the way, you discover new things, learn so much, have a tremendous amount of fun… this _is_ going to be wonderful, you gorgeous man, and aren’t we blessed for it?”

Taking a deep breath, Mycroft simply nodded and, drawing every ounce of his courage to the fore, lifted their joined hands to place a shaky and whisper-soft kiss of his own on the back of Lestrade’s hand.

      “That we are, Gregory.  That we are.”

When Mycroft smiled, Lestrade felt the room glow more brightly than a hundred candles and he decided that making Mycroft Holmes smile was truly one of the greatest pleasures in his life.  Now, his mission was to do that as often as was humanly possible.  His Mycroft deserved to smile when the workday was done and it would be _his_ honor and privilege to see that it happened.  And there were just so very, very many ways he could think of to see the deed done.  Wildly enjoyable ways, at that…


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock rolled his eyes at Mrs. Hudson’s large smile and fingers over her lips and barged into the library anyway, being most put out when he didn’t catch his brother doing anything embarrassing.

      “Oh.  Lestrade is gone.”

Damnation.  On both counts.  Sherlock was always a reason to summon a damning, but now, so was propriety.  Evil Gregory declaring that it would certainly be inappropriate to linger too late given the early stages of their courtship and leaving at a modest hour.  He was correct, of course, however… evil.  What a stupendous occasion was last night!  For lack of a better term… it was perfect.  Everything, down to the smallest detail.  Gregory had crafted for him the most splendid of evenings and that was before… well, the tokens of affection were certainly their own cause for celebration.  There was nothing, nothing in this world that had had inspired in him such passion and provided such pleasure as the grace of Gregory’s touch.  And kisses… how even to describe their magnificence…

      “If you have been so impolite as to expire in that chair so that it must be discarded with your corpse, I will be incredibly angry because it actually the only comfortable one you have seen fit to purchase for this entire household.”

      “What?  Oh, Sherlock.  You are home.”

      “And have been for an eternity!  It is only now that Mrs. Hudson has permitted me to tread this part of the house for she is a despot and an irritating one, at that.”

Apparently, his housekeeper was a staunch supporter of relishing one’s romantic encounters.  Or worried that he _was_ dead and not particularly inclined to let that fact be known until morning.

      “I assume she believed me occupied with work to remain awake at this hour.”

      “Pfft.  I doubt you have the mind for it, seeing it has been assaulted by Lestrade’s inanity for the entirety of the evening.  Tell me, at which pie-seller’s stall did he stop to purchase your dinner?”

      “How witty of you, brother dear.  For your information, Gregory secured for us a table at one of my preferred establishments.  It was a delightful evening from any perspective.”

      “How many perspectives could there be, given you were fitted with a feed bag and likely passed not a word with him until you were sent to pasture to eliminate the feed you had already consumed?”

      “Sherlock… is there a reason you have chosen to visit me with this latest flask of vitriol?”

      “No.”

Which meant the reason was a substantial one.

      “Then do make yourself at home, in our home, at some location that is not precisely this one.”

      “No.”

Could it be brother Sherlock was actually curious about the evening?  This was somewhat unexpected…

      “If you remain, I assure you that I shall regale you with the tales of my romantic interlude with Gregory and you know that will uncomfortably agitate your delicate constitution.”

      “As if your dronings could agitate me.  Bore me into an early grave, perhaps.”

And you fling yourself upon the sofa given the threat of disclosure hanging over your head like the executioner’s axe.  Apparently, you _are_ hopeful for news… how _very_ interesting…

      “Very well… Gregory escorted me to an exceedingly fine restaurant and we enjoyed a number of hours of exceptional cuisine, excellent wine and incomparable conversation.  Subsequently, we returned here for further conversation on an abundance of mentally-stimullating topics, enjoying the fire and the simple pleasures of companionship.”

      “How is it that you have an _explorer_ vying for your hand and your introductory launch into the area of romance would bore a monk?”

      “Likely it is my astounding good fortune and appreciation of quality, character and taste.”

      “And is that all?  An evening no different than that which you might pass with innumerable of the dreary specters that haunt our halls for this or that diplomatic debacle?”

      “Since you have no experience with either a romantic or diplomatic situation, debacle or not, I fail to see how you are able to correlate the two.”

      “It would be obvious to a toddler.  Or cat.”

      “Your ability to differentiate species is positively astounding.”

      “I had supposed, given Lestrade’s appalling presentation of joie de vivre, he would have taken you to a burlesque performance and, then, a measure of cock fighting and a few hours in an opium den.”

      “Yes, I am certain Gregory gave each of those an appropriate amount of thought, which would be indecipherably small, before tossing them into the rubbish and considering something that resembled an enjoyable experience for us both.”

      “And was it?”

      “I have already declared it was.  Did your experiments today, perchance, involve objects inserted into your ears?”

      “No, however, an answer given in hopes of rapidly evicting me from your sight is very different from one given in honesty.”

Sherlock was _highly_ interested in the outcome of the evening… truly this was a day of days…

      “I concede the point, and, further, will verify that my response was honest and authentic.  Gregory took great care to structure our evening so that we were able to enjoy the time to its fullest.  He showed awareness of what might and might not please me and used that information to best effect.  I was most touched by the degree of thought.”

      “Speaking of touching…”

      “Which shall not occur…”

      “Which _will_ occur or your brand of soap might be replaced by something decidedly… not soap.”

      “For some things I must insist on privacy, Sherlock.”

      “So, touching _was_ something for which Lestrade showed awareness.   Hmmmm… how defiled do you feel?”

Sherlock’s curiosity was run riot!  Could it be… might young Sherlock finally be wondering what such a thing might bring to his own life?  That would be a rather fantastic turn of events, especially given Gregory’s revelations concerning a certain doctor who would not be an entirely unacceptable _companion_ for the youngest of the Holmes clan.  He had yet to black Sherlock’s eye, so that put him far and away the leading contender in the admittedly small field of competition.

      “If you must know… he held my hand.”

      “I may expire from boredom.”

      “The fire is still most robust, so cremation would not be terribly difficult, though I am not completely certain how your incineration will soot the chimney and I did have them recently swept.  Mrs. Hudson would be most cross if I had to have the act repeated as she has a long-simmering war with the chimney sweep over the apparent theft of a string of sausages or something of the like.”

      “The mere thought of two aged, sag-fleshed men, one who bears the distinct silhouette of a heavily-pregnant sow walking erect, holding hands like rosy-cheeked youths is… I may be ill.”

      “Oh good, since you were already dying, your time will not be wasted.”

Mycroft spent a few moments admiring Sherlock’s very stage-worthy death scene and marveled that not even this revelation was enough to send his brother racing for safer climes.  Apparently, this was information Sherlock was determined to gather regardless of pain and suffering.

      “If you find Gregory and my conduct objectionable, Sherlock…”

      “It is horrifying in its disgust.”

But not objectionable, which was a solid tally mark in the positive side of the ledger.

      “If we are courting, it is not to be expected that we demonstrate affection?”

      “No.”

      “Very well, I will concede that many relationships are not exemplars of affectionate regard, however, Gregory and I are following a different path.  As our lives could never be entwined in marriage, to vault beyond simple friendship has no purpose unless it was to secure for the both of us a desired exchange of affection.  It is… it is rather interesting, actually, that our situation precludes the rather normal business arrangement that is marriage and allows us something more… personal.”

      “You are already considering a permanent association?”

      “I would not be so presumptuous, however, the possibility exists and it exists as something beyond what is on offer for most in society.”

      “Mummy will be apoplectic.”

      “Mummy will not know.”

      “I beg to differ.”

      “No, you do not.  Mummy would be incalculably bothersome if she was even to suspect there was between Gregory and myself anything other than collegial friendship and that is not something to which I shall see Gregory subjected.”

      “For that, I will require substantial remuneration.”

      “Bribery… it _is_ often the best way to manage your mischief.”

      “I strive for efficiency in all things.”

However, there was a slight change in Sherlock’s expression that had Mycroft remaining quiet, awaiting the inevitable words to follow.

      “I believe, for what it is worth, that Mummy would be happy for you.”

He would never admit to the twinge of emotion that hit his heart, but Mycroft gave it a welcome non-acknowledgement, nonetheless.

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  I appreciate your words.  And, when Gregory and I are confident our association shall be of a long-term nature, I shall impart the news to her, along with the admonition that any unseemly exuberance will not be tolerated.”

      “That is wise.  She can be most… giddy… when she so desires.”

      “And she desires only when it is precisely the perfect time to cause maximum embarrassment to the recipient of her mirth.”

      “Speaking of… _it_ looms.  Like the Grim Reaper over an expiring consumptive.”

      “That it does.  And Gregory is most anticipative of the event and whatever Mummy desires it extend to past a simple dinner.”

      “Because he is much like a performing dog.  When the music plays, he lurches onto his hind legs and gleefully dances for his audience.”

      “Something which ensures his continued ability to function in his chosen profession.”

      “A profession that will take him away from London for notably long periods of time.”

For the first time in their conversation, Sherlock noticed a dimming of the light in Mycroft’s eyes and, as much as he surely did not wish it to, it made him ache a little for his brother.

      “Yes… that is not a truth from which I am blinding myself, Sherlock.”

      “Has it been discussed?”

      “No, not as yet.  I suppose the topic will arise once we are closer to Gregory’s next departure date.”

      “Your view on the subject?”

Was not firmly fixed in Mycroft’s mind.  No, he did not desire Gregory to leave for months upon months of time.  Years even!  However, he would be an unconscionable villain if he was to demand Gregory remain in London.  When the time came, that particular discussion would certainly prove… difficult.

      "My view is that I have no right to ask of Gregory that he abandon his work to remain in England.  He has toiled tirelessly to attain the reputation he enjoys and make the contributions he values so highly.  It would be dishonorable and, certainly, not caring.”

      “I suppose that, given his advanced age, he has only a few expeditions remaining before he is sufficiently enfeebled to require a nurse dedicated to his failing health and hygiene.”

      “What a lovely image you envision.  I expect, rather, that Gregory’s physical vigor ensures he will have the wherewithal to continue his explorations for a very long time to come.”

      “Please keep your ruminations on Lestrade’s physical vigor very much to yourself.”

I will, brother dear.  And they shall continue to occupy a very pleasant corner of my mind where I may visit them at will.  How long would it be until… an embrace?  To feel Gregory’s arms around him, holding… dare he think it… caressing…

      “Oh no, you have become libidinal.”

      “Incorrect.”

For a given measure of correctness set entirely by my whim.

      “How soon must I expect your partner in debauchery to return to color torrid red the hue of my day?”

Sherlock’s curiosity was handily piqued by Mycroft’s highly agitated moue and he mentally rubbed his hands in preparation for the revelation.

      “Several days, at the very least.  His own commitments preclude an evening together for a rather extended amount of time.”

      “Several days does not meet even the leanest definition of the term ‘extended amount of time.’ “

      “I believe your time would best be spent studying the intricacies of vocabulary than robbing me of much-desired quiet, brother dear.”

      “You are as infatuated as a boy with his head first turned by a comely neighbor.  Or, in your case, a comely roasted pheasant.”

      “I think that is somewhat of an overstatement.”

      ‘Only because you are not gazing at your own visage.  If I obtained a mirror, your opinion would change in a trice.”

      “Twaddle.”

      “Shall I summon Mrs. Hudson to pass judgment.”

      “No, for she will surely side with whatever perspective she finds most amusing.”

      “True, but, since that is all about which I care… I win.”

Mycroft sighed at his brother’s smug smile and searched his memory for any business in the city that took siblings in trade for useful goods.  A new humidor would be most welcome, as the current one could host only the smallest quantity of hidden sweets.  Or maybe a new fountain pen.  If he could not be with Gregory in the physical sense, he could, at the very least, send messages of greetings and good wishes.  Yes, that was easily something that could be accomplished and certainly merited a special writing utensil for the occasion.

      “Should you not be finding your bed at this hour, Sherlock?”

      “I know where it is located and doubt that it has shifted geographically since I left it this morning.”

      “Then do bid it a warm welcome and allow me to continue my reflections.”

      “No.”

      “Oh, dear lord…”

      “I wish to discuss John.”

Hoping the shock was not evident to the person still gazing at his visage, Mycroft set his most disinterested mask in place and waved dismissively at his brother.

      “Whatever for?”

      “John will also depart with Lestrade when they leave to pursue their foolish adventures.”

      “True, an expedition is well-served with a doctor as a member.”

      “ _Leave_.”

      “This is _my_ library.”

Sherlock’s rolled eyes were Mycroft small reward for his intentional misinterpretation.

      “ _John_ will leave.  This means he will no longer be able to act as my assistant and all-around lackey.”

      “What a high opinion you have of Doctor Watson.”

      “That I know his name already places him high on my scale of esteem.”

Said haughtily and with every bit of his brother’s ‘do not notice my attempts to hide my true thoughts’ tone in the narration.  The revelations were flowing swiftly tonight, were they not?

      “Of course.  Well, then it truly should be not terribly difficult to secure a replacement.  I shall make inquiries as to…”

      “No.”

      “If you shall be without your menial, then…”

      “John is not a menial!”

      “Pardon me, if you shall be without your _lackey_ , then it would be to your benefit that I act to find another.”

Sherlock’s petulant pout was as heartwarming as it had been when his brother was a boy.

      “It is impossible to engage with you using any form of humor.”

      “Oh, were you using humor?  The callous insults must have confused my analyses.”

The rude and rather wet noise was also heartwarming, a fond auditory memory from years gone by.

      “I am surprised Lestrade can tolerate conversation with you for more than a handful of minutes.”

      “Yet he gladly passes hours in my company doing nothing but that very thing.”

      “Then he is, also, an infatuated nincompoop.”

      “That is what I dearly hope.  Even with this extremely small step upon the path, I am highly eager to see the structure of our journey unfold.  I did not anticipate this level of satisfaction, however, I will enjoy it to its fullest.”

      “I am now nauseated.”

      “Shall I find for you some charcoal to ingest?”

      “No.  Find for me, instead, a way to prevent John returning to Africa.”

That was as clear a declaration of… something… as Mycroft had ever heard.  Could it be his brother was, at least privately, acknowledging he had found a friend?  Was it at all possible the declaration was of a deeper nature?  Oh, this was wildly intriguing…

      “I daresay that would be met with as much jubilation as it would be if I tried such for Gregory.”

      “Lestrade has no scientific use.  John does.”

      “Gregory has personal… I shall not say use, for that is a rather crass use of the word.  Value, I shall instead substitute.”

      “John also has personal value!”

Yes, brother dear, do reveal as much as possible…

      “Oh?  Then I stand corrected.”

      “You sit corrected, you mean.”

      “It is the more comfortable option.  I would ask, though… have _you_ spoken to John of your concerns?”

      “I have not.  There has not been a time for the conversation that would not distract from the work.”

      “I see.  Then, I would suggest you do that when the opportunity first presents itself.  I believe you have time aplenty to find that opportunity, however, as Gregory is not racing to prepare his next endeavor.”

      “He _is_ behaving most lazily and if he retains his employment, I would be most surprised.  As it works to my benefit, I will not inform his sponsors and demand he be tossed into the street.”

      “Very charitable of you.  And most felicitous, as it will give you the time you require to further your own relationship with John.”

Now, just how distracted was his brother with his thoughts about the upcoming conversation with the good doctor…

      “That is true…”

Very distracted, apparently.

      “Just tonight, in fact, John insisted I accompany him for one of his atrocious outings for alcohol and, with time, I hope to modify his behavior towards a more appropriate beverage.”

      “A most admirable goal.  Perhaps… perhaps you might invite him here more frequently for a collegial visit and use the time to offer some of the libations we have in our cellar.”

      “Hmmmm… that is not an altogether ridiculous idea, which is somewhat startling as you are its progenitor.”

      “As Gregory and I enjoy a warming beverage by the fire and the delight of spirited conversation, so might you offer the same to Doctor Watson.  I am certain you have many topics related to your research that would benefit from discussion in a relaxing situation.”

      “Again, you have, somehow, stumbled upon an idea of merit.  What did Mrs. Hudson serve for dinner?   Was it brains, by any chance?”

      “Something you might wish to discuss with her should you decide to extend your invitation to Doctor Watson to the point where a meal is involved.    I am confident Cook would be happy to prepare whatever menu you desire for your mission to cultivate in the good doctor a taste for the finer things in life.”

      “That would benefit my stomach immeasurably, as well.  When I do choose to eat, I prefer it not be the crudest of offal and moldy bread, as John happily consumes when we partake of lunch in one of the establishments he frequents, which does side business as a bludgeoner-for-hire service and goat tannery.”

      “Then it is settled.  And I will even do you the courtesy of not making myself part of your after-dinner conversation and allow you private use of the library so you may concentrate on your sure-to-be profound academic discourse so as not offer the distraction of my waistline to incite your flamboyant sense of humor.”

      “You are attempting to jest, but you have hit squarely on the head of the truth.  I will offer my invitation when I next see John and reassure him we shall not have to suffer your bulk in the space with us, pressing us so tightly to the sides of the room that the imprint of the wallpaper is forever branded into our flesh.”

Brahe’s shining astrolabe… Sherlock was offering a social invitation!  This was… was there something more unprecedented than… unprecedented?  Not only had his brother never offered a social invitation, he actively made it known that individuals were not to approach his doorstep on pain of verbal evisceration!

      “Beckon the flamboyance and it leaps to the fore.  However, do notify me when John will be arriving and I will ensure you are undisturbed.”

And, with an extra measure of joy in his heart, Mycroft rose from his chair and gave his brother a nod.

      “I will bid you goodnight, Sherlock, and offer my hopes that you soon find your own rest for tomorrow comes on very swift wings.”

The flapping of Sherlock’s hand shooing him out the door came as no surprise, nor did Mycroft’s feet taking him not up the stairs to his bed, but to his conservatory, where he took a moment to linger and soak in the residual presence of the man who had made this bit of wonder possible.  Tomorrow was a lightly-scheduled one, was it not?  And, by happy coincidence, he had in his possession several unread books that had been vying for his attention, yet languished still in their tidy package from his bookseller.  A day of reading in this beautiful room… yes, his Gregory was a man of unparalleled talents to know such a thing would be the most profound of blessings.  Now, if he could only keep thoughts of whatever other talents Gregory might sport out of his thoughts until he fell asleep, he might actually _see_ a few hours of sleep before morning.  Unfortunately, even his indomitable will might not be up to the task…

__________

      “Good heavens, Sherlock… do you know the time?”

John rubbed the sleep out of his eyes while he looked at the tall figure standing in the doorway of his small RGS bedroom and groaned himself into a slightly better-awake condition.

      “The sun has risen, so the day has begun and so should our work.  Why are you still in your nightshirt?”

Something John was just realizing and feeling very fortunate that Sherlock likely had zero concept of propriety or modesty or any of the other things that made conversing with a night-shirted man a socially-dubious thing.

      “Because, as of one minute ago, I was still in my bed.  Asleep in it, actually, since that’s it’s basic function.”

      “Sleep is for those who have nothing better to do with their time.  You do.  I shall meet you in your so-called laboratory workroom, then we will take our efforts to Bart’s.  You have, if I remember, a selection of desiccated roots that I wish to test for the presence of certain alkaloids.”

And, with no further preamble, Sherlock whirled around and sped down the corridor towards the stairs, leaving John to fathom out if he was awake or still asleep and having a very pompous and bastardy dream.  Deciding it was likely the former, the doctor quickly cleaned himself, donned his clothes and met Sherlock in a short enough amount of time that the younger man had difficulty mustering an aspersion to cast.

      “Sherlock… my roots are in _that_ cabinet.”

John pointed to the one cabinet that Sherlock didn’t seem to have flung open the doors and wondered what was actually on his companion’s mind this morning.

      “So, you want to tell me what’s actually on your mind this morning, Sherlock?”

Might as well ask if you want to know…

      “Our research.”

      “Which doesn’t occur in my cupboards.”

      “In one sense, no.  In another, yes.”

      “What?”

      “I was hoping to perform an inventory of the materials and equipment you have here so that the broader picture of our combined resources was made clear.”

      “O……k….. is there a reason why?”

      “Given Lestrade is being nothing less than a laggard about his preparations for your return to Africa, I am considering expanding the scope of our research.  If we require additional supplies, I would see them ordered sooner than later so we might make best use of the time allotted to us by the aforementioned laggardness.”

      “Oh, I suppose that makes sense.”

Though the look on Sherlock’s face gave the doctor pause and he cocked an eyebrow to let Sherlock _know_ he was pausing and expecting some clarification of the look to appear in the very immediate future.

      “John… do _you_ know why Lestrade is showing little motivation to return for a new expedition?”

Yes, he did, and now was an excellent time to discuss that since he and Greg had enjoyed a very illuminating conversation after he returned from his evening with Mycroft and that conversation made certain things a great deal easier, in terms of associating with Sherlock.

      “Yes, I do.  And I know that you do, too.”

      “I have no idea what you mean.”

      “You have a very good idea because Mycroft’s already told you about him and Greg.”

Perfect.  Blindsided Sherlock was a sight to admire.  And laugh at.  Openly.

      “I… you are aware of the situation?”

      “That I am.  Greg’s a good friend, the best I’ve had in a long time and I very much know about him and, now, who’s caught his eye.”

      “I was not certain that would be something Lestrade would divulge, given the seriousness of the issue and potential for personal and professional damage.”

      “I understand that and he didn’t straight off when I met him.  But, as I said, we’re good friends and have been long enough to have talked a lot, about many things, and I’m proud to say he trusts me enough to know that his secret is safe with me.  Mycroft’s is, too, in case you’re worried.”

      “I was not worried, per se, simply surprised that… no, surprised is, also, not the correct word.  I did not expect that particular revelation and was somewhat startled by the discovery.”

      “Well, it’s out in the open now, so everyone knows what’s going on and there won’t be any real surprises as this unfolds.  And, I’ll give you this for free… Greg is _very_ hopeful something wonderful does unfold.  He’s a bit pitiful, actually, going on and on about how amazing Mycroft is… how funny and smart…”

      “I’m going to be sick.”

      “No, you’re not.  You’re going to enjoy the fact that we can have our own fun making merry over Greg and Mycroft’s romantic silliness and relishing how horribly they humiliate themselves when they behave like two young lads with their first love.”

      “That is true.  And a highly laudable viewpoint.  Very well, I will save my emesis for a more appropriate time and take advantage of the amusement this situation offers.”

      “Nicely done.  Though, I do have to admit… I want this to be a good thing for the two of them.  I’ll tell you something else for free… Greg’s hopeful of finding something special in this life.  Despite everything, who he is, what he is, the nature of his work… he truly does want to find someone he can build a relationship with and one that will last.  Is… do you think Mycroft wants that, too?”

      “Hmmmm… had you asked me before I learned of his pathetic infatuation, I would have laughed derisively, then said no.  However, I cannot, now, be so confident.  Mycroft as demonstrated a willingness, nay, an eagerness to pursue their association and that is a _marked_ shift of behavior.  Normally, he avoids other humans like they were plague-carriers, but he clearly takes pleasure from Lestrade’s company.  And he has used the term ‘affection,’ which is wholly out of character.  I would say, without question, that the possibility exists for their unholy union to blossom into some hideous stench-flower-producing, clinging vine that entangles them both.  I suppose only time will tell.  But, I must ask…”

This pause was somewhat ominous and John braced himself accordingly.

      “Lestrade… he is honorable in these matters, is he not?  Mycroft will not… evidence of romantic attention to others will be received most poorly by my brother.”

 If there had ever be any doubt, the honest concern in Sherlock’s eyes told John that the taller man was being entirely serious.  In truth, it wasn’t the most unsupported concerns, given Greg’s personality.

      “He will.  Be honorable, I mean.  There’s scarcely a more flirtatious man in existence, it seems at times, but Greg, in his heart, is one of the most decent men I know.  Now, I’m certain they’ll talk about it at some point, but I’ll let you know, in case Mycroft… well, in case it’s a problem… being a decent man doesn’t mean Greg’s unfamiliar with… you know.”

      “No, I do not.”

      “Yeah, you do.”

      “I assure you, you are mistaken.”

      “Consider the thrust of our conversation and use that big brain of yours.”

      “Was that supposed to be helpful?”

      “How about if I say it again and add some emphasis on the word ‘thrust?’”

      “Is this some form of code?”

Apparently it is.

      “Sex!  I’m talking about sex, Sherlock.  Greg’s done that.  A lot.  He likes it, so he’s had his fair share.  Please don’t ask if that’s code, too, or it won’t go well for you.”

Not that Sherlock seemed to care much since he appeared to be frozen in place, doing a strange blinking behavior that had John’s doctor’s side take notice for signs of mental downturn.

      “Oh.”

      “Wasn’t that rather what we’d been talking about?”

      “No.”

      “Oh.”

      “But, yes.”

      “That _is_ code.”

      “If I was to employ a code, I can assure you it would be far more cryptic.  I simply… that did not factor into my thinking.”

      “That?”

      “Yes.”

      “What’s that?”

      “Based on the direction of your gaze, I would say my nose.”

      “Bastard.  What are… oh.  Sherlock… can’t you even say the word?”

      “Of course I can.”

      “Go ahead, then.”

      “The word.”

      “Oh, you’re a funny one.”

      “Fine.  Sex.  Sex, sex and more sex.  Which, apparently, is very appealing to Lestrade.”

      “Don’t make it sound that way!  Nothing wrong with a healthy appreciation for something that’s natural as breathing.”

      “I would argue your comparison.”

      “Sex is perfectly natural, Sherlock.  I’ll concede that society makes it seem otherwise and there are those, I’ve met one or two, actually, who don’t seem to care about it much, but… humans have sex!  They just do.  Don’t look down on those follow their urges, as long as they do so with willing partners and treat them well.  No, it’s not proper or what the upper class might consider tolerable, but… there it is.”

      “That was a rather impassioned speech.”

      “Thank you.”

      “Generally one only musters that degree of passion for a subject that affects one personally.”

      “Greg’s my friend and I don’t want you to look down on him, so yes, it affects me personally.”

      “Ummmm… no.”

      “Yes.”

      “Have you had sex?”

      “What… you don’t ask a bloke that!”

      “Why not?  If sex is as natural and without shame as you intimate, then the question is a perfectly valid one to pose.”

      “No, it’s not.”

      “Admittedly, I would not inquire if you were married, however, your bachelor status does raise the issue.”

      “There is _no_ issue to raise.”

      “Then you have _not_ engaged in sexual acts.”

      “I… I didn’t say that.”

      “That implies you have.”

      “The implication is that this is completely none of your business.”

      “Now I am beginning to wonder if you have _not_ engaged in sexual congress.  Given your diminutive height and the fact that you do not parlay your medical training into a more lucrative practice…”

      “Hey!  I’ve had my own fair share of willing partners for your sexual congress, thank you very much!”

      “Now that we have established you are as wanton as Lestrade…”

      “I am not!”

      “Something Mycroft will certainly want to know, however…”

The infuriating grin on Sherlock’s face muted just a touch and de-escalated John’s blood pressure to a nearly non-lethal level.

      “… you may be one to answer a question that has me somewhat vexed.”

      “I… if I can.”

      “How do men have sex?”

      “WHAT!”

      “Those words were entirely monosyllabic.  Do not attempt to tell me they were beyond your ken.”

      “Why… why would you even believe I would know such a thing!”

      “From the progression that you are a friend of Lestrade, Lestrade has engaged in sex and Lestrade has a taste for men.”

      “You… alright, I can’t say that’s a bad use of reasoning…”

      “I know.”

      “Wonderful.  But… this isn’t really something you talk about…”

      “You seem perfectly willing to discuss the naturalness of sex, so I believe this is most certainly something _you_ talk about.  Do begin.”

      “I respectfully decline.”

      “That is not an option.  If it helps, I can find paper and a pencil for you to illustrate your lecture.”

      “NO!  For god sakes, just no.  Why… why are you even asking me this?”

      “Because…”

Again, Sherlock’s somewhat-taunting grin faded a little and snapped John back to a semblance of reality.

      “Sherlock… are you saying Mycroft hasn’t ever…”

      “Mycroft has yet to receive so much as a kiss, and one can easily understand why, so sex is most certainly out of the question.”

      “And… are you hoping to… Sherlock, I can guarantee that if their relationship goes in that direction, Greg will be extremely considerate and not do anything that might…”

      “Pfft.  Mycroft is perfectly capable of ensuring he is comfortable with whatever occurs between them.”

      “Then why… oh.  _Oh_ ….”

      “What?”

      “Sherlock… are you asking… because you want to know?”

      “Why else would I ask, John?  Don’t be stupid, there are quite enough stupid people in the world already.”

      “No… that’s not exactly what I mean.  Are you asking because _you want_ to  know.”

      “That is exactly what you said a moment ago.”

      “Said, yes.  Intoned, no.”

      “I fail to understand how your simple mind can be so utterly baffling at times.”

      “Bastard.  And I’m not being baffling, I’m just trying to be… discreet.”

      “About what?”

      “Oh god… do I have to do this again?”

      “I fail to see yet what you have done once to be able to set a baseline for ‘again.’ “

John shook his head and decided that this was a path best left untrod for the sake of his sanity.  It wasn’t necessary for Sherlock to answer anyway.  If he was wrong about his suspicions, he’d consider himself the country’s worst diagnostician and hand in his medical credentials for burning.

      “You know… you’re right.  Thought I had a notion, but it’s flown away like a bird on the wing.”

Which is what Greg’s going to want to do when he sees me because this is all that bastard’s fault and he will pay dearly as soon as his raggedy arse is back here for a solid kicking.

      “You were most adamant about your notion.”

      “No, off its flown.  Can’t even remember what was on my mind.  Tea?”

      “Yes.  But… were you attempting in your ineffective manner to ask if I, like Mycroft, am attracted to men?”

      “NO!  No, of course not.  That is not something you ask another person. Not done.  Illegal, possibly.  Probably.”

      “I agree that by the strictures of society it is somewhat akin to asking if a person has the pox, but I, fortunately, am above such nonsense.”

      “Well done, you.  Oh, look.  My burner is waiting to make tea.  Just a moment.”

      “To answer your unasked question – I am.”

John paused his fleeing and knew he could pretend he didn’t hear, but Sherlock wouldn’t be fooled and it would be dishonorable to ignore such a personal, and courageous, declaration.

      “You are?”

      “Insomuch as I feel attraction to or interest in anyone.”

      “That’s… that’s probably not something you should share so readily.”

      “I do not, however, a baseline that _has_ been set is your knowledge of such thing and ability to preserve the privacy of those who would be harmed by certain disclosures.”

      “True.  That’s true.  It’s _very_ true, Sherlock and please know that it’s completely alright that you tend that way.”

      “I know it’s alright.”

      “Yes… I mean, with me.  I don’t think any less of you because of it.”

      “That would be rather hypocritical of you since you share the same leanings.  Or, at least, partially.”

      “WHAT!  Why.. why would you…”

      “I am not so unobservant that I cannot notice when I am being apprised by an interested eye.”

Sherlock darted forward to steady a wobbly John and sit him on a stool while rather awkwardly patting his shoulder and delivering several there-there’s to show concern.

      “I… I have never done that, Sherlock.”

      “I would advise you to look around and take notice of the number of reflective surfaces in the room.  Because you do such behind my back does not mean it is being done out of my sight.”

This time, Sherlock’s attempts at concern were shrugged off and John hopped off the stool to glare at the person who was NOT playing fair and damn Sherlock for it.

      “You’re mistaken.  You may be brilliant, but that doesn’t mean you get it right all of the time.”

      “That is true.  This morning I predicted that there would be porridge with my breakfast, but I was sadly mistaken.”

      “Bastard.  Look, Sherlock…”

      “As you said, John, it is alright.  It is complete alright that you tend that way and I shall not breach your confidence to any except those who already have awareness of your nature.  Which would be Lestrade, most certainly, and Mycroft, not entirely as certainly but I would place the likelihood at 98% at minimum.”

      “Oh god…”

      “If he exists, I would assume he would know, as well.”

      “Sherlock…”

      “And this does rather make easier the invitation I was slated to offer.  We will have dinner in my home tomorrow night, followed by conversation in the library.  Mycroft will not be present to offend our senses with his myriad of distressing physical characteristics, so consider that something extra to which to look forward.”

      “WHAT!”

      “I shall take that as your acceptance.  Thank you, John.  This should prove to be entertaining.  Now, I believe you mentioned tea?”

John stared at the man, now sporting an immensely-pleased smile and tried to find the exact point this morning spiraled out of control.  With the first knock on his bedroom door, most likely.

      “Tea… right.  That’s a very good idea.  Lots and lots of tea.”

      “We can discuss the horror of Mycroft and Lestrade’s embarrassing romance while we wait for the water to boil.”

That, at least, was something John was more than willing to discuss, especially since, as stated, all of this was the fault of one Gregory Lestrade and any fun to be had at his expense _would_ be had.  Often and eagerly.

      “I like the sound of that.  And we’re agreed, I take it?  We’ll savor their awkward courting and be happy for them if this becomes what they hope.”

      “Is the happiness absolutely necessary?”

      “Yes.”

      “Must it be proclaimed.”

      “In your case… no.”

      “Very well.  Now, let us move on to more important matters.”

      “Tea, and then roots?”

      “Verily.”

      “Is that a girl?”

      “You are as hopeless as Lestrade for vocabulary.”

      “But I’m an excellent shot and can probably see you murdered in your bed if I can get the right vantage point to shoot through your bedroom window.”

      “That shall be our second experiment for the day.  Quantifying your accuracy might prove useful information for future endeavors.”

An afternoon with one of the firearms the RGS had stored away or his own personal souvenir from far-flung fiends?  The day had suddenly taken a turn for the brighter. Right now, the thought of shooting something was the best suggestion anyone could have given.  And, didn’t he have a drawing somewhere he’d torn from the newspaper of the person who, as had been mentioned and _would_ be many mental times today, was entirely at fault for the crippling effects of this morning?  Yes, he did and it would make a marvelous target at which to shoot…


	17. Chapter 17

      “Yes you are.”

      “No, I’m not.”

      “Wrong answer.”

      “Right answer.”

This had been going on for quite some time and Lestrade had to admit that John was showing a truly commendable tenacious side, as was his bastardy nature.  Unfortunately, it was working against the grand plan and that was highly unacceptable, not that there _was_ a grand plan, of course, but it was fun to think about in any case, so said tenaciousness was not going to win the day.

      “You’re going to have a nice meal with Sherlock, enjoy some fine spirits in their lovely library, talk about interesting topics and maybe get the chance to indulge in some other fine things, which include a fine _gentleman_ if all goes well.”

      “Stop!  You’ve gone mad and I won’t have your madness spoiling my day.  Not allowed when I’ve a relaxing evening with a few pints of ale waiting for me.”

      ‘No, you don’t.  You have a relaxing evening ahead with someone who clearly has an interest in you, not that I know the extent of what that interest might be.  Friends or more, it’s a good thing, John.  Enjoy yourself!”

John glared at the grinning explorer and wondered if a punch to Greg’s face would do anything to make the aforementioned grin vanish down his throat, along with his teeth.

      “Greg… I know you think this is amusing…”

      “I don’t think it’s amusing; I _know_ it’s amusing.  Splendidly amusing, at that.  But, I also believe it’s a brilliant thing and you should be taking full advantage of it.”

      “Why… Sherlock and I work well together.  We work very well together.  I enjoy his company, if I’m honest.  We don’t need any… complications.”

      “I don’t see any complications here.  The only complications are the ones you’re creating in your mind.”

      “Wrong.”

      “Right.  You’re worried that something is happening and you’re _making_ it a problem.  I admit that exploring more than a work arrangement with Sherlock will have its dangers, like it would for any man, more perhaps because that man is Sherlock, but if you’re simply willing to admit that this might be something good, then you’ve got a chance for something properly special.  I know what the _real_ problem is here, John, and so do you.  Ultimately, if you can’t move past that, then fine.  But, I think you can.  Moreover, I think you want to.  I’m not blind, you know, and I’m old and experienced enough to know what it is I’m _not_ blind to.”

John’s rude gesture just made Lestrade grin harder and don his jacket as he made ready to make a start on his own evening.  Work, work and work, but very soon it would be Mycroft, Mycroft, Mycroft and that was certainly a cozy candle flame piercing the darkness.

      “Remember to freshen yourself before you leave, too, you unkempt doctor.  Make a good impression.  I’ll tell you as a friend that, first, you need it and, second, Mrs. Hudson is going to inspect every inch of you and you’d best pass muster or things will go very hard for one John Watson.  She’s very protective of her gentlemen and no riff-raff are going to make it past her guard.”

      “I’m not courting Sherlock!”

      “Not yet, but she’s very much of a mind that it’s good to be prepared. I won’t be in early, so we’ll likely have time to talk about your nice evening when I return.  Good luck, John.  And, when the good luck arrives, kindly snatch all you’re able.  Opportunities don’t land in your hands very often.”

Before John could voice the tirade he was building, Lestrade darted out the door of his small sitting room and hoped that the doctor didn’t take his petulance out on the few worldly possessions that decorated the tiny space.  John could be a spiteful creature when the mood struck and a mood was certainly gripping the evil doctor at the moment.  For his part, John kicked once at Greg’s wall, then rubbed off the scuff since it wasn’t exactly _Greg’s_ wall and the last thing they needed was to lose their lodgings because Greg’s backside hadn’t been available when he felt like kicking.  Infernal explorer… how did he fall into this ridiculous situation!  It was as if everyone in his life was seeking to match him and he didn’t want to be matched!  

Maybe.  Or not.  Why couldn’t he simply float through life as he’d been doing?  It was a very effective strategy, in fact.  Apparently, though, once love was in the air it tried to spread itself to all innocent parties in the vicinity and even some who weren’t _exactly_ innocent in the context of affairs of the heart.  Or other regions of the anatomy.  Someone had to have a rational head about them, though, so perhaps the best course of action was just to lay this out plainly and set the bounds for his and Sherlock’s association in clear and concise terms.  Work, a friendly drink when they had the time, a shared meal to keep up the energy for more work… it was a grand thing to have someone with whom to do all of that and romance wasn’t needed, now was it?  No, no it wasn’t.  Silly and foolish to think otherwise and Doctor John Watson was neither.

So… one nice meal, which was always a blessing, some bracing conversation and even more bracing spirits… a fine manly evening between two friends.  There were _far_ worse ways to pass the time.  For example, he could be Greg, speaking to a room of charitable ladies who had intentions they believed were good, but _very_ little understanding of the fact that the ‘poor natives’ in those ‘savage lands’ were perfectly content with their lives, had a rich culture and didn’t need to be saved by single-minded Europeans who saw no need to take time to learn about their ways since the point was to change everything in the first place.  Fortunately, Greg had a particular knack for telling interesting and entertaining stories that didn’t raise up the crusading urge very strongly but did encourage donations so he could go out to find _more_ interesting and entertaining stories to bring back and share.

Very well, then.  Simple dinner, simple conversation, simple relaxation… enjoy what was on offer and don’t look for anything more that might be hiding under the sofa.  Yes, he’d thought that very thing several times now, but, no, he wasn’t trying to convince himself towards or away from anything else in particular.  No looking for things that weren’t there, not the John Watson way.  There was too much chance he would find them and that would certainly complicate matters in a most troublesome way…

__________

      “Don’t you look a fright.”

John quelled the urge to smooth his coat and check his fingers for stains, then huffed an annoyed breath at Mrs. Hudson, who was glaring at him with the intensity of the foulest of witches.

      “Utterly untrue.  My presentation is most tidy.”

      “Tidy for an urchin perhaps.  And Mr. Sherlock actually combed his hair for your dinner, the poor thing.”

The tsk-tsking made John roll his eyes but his hands turned traitor and reached up to check that his own locks were behaving themselves and not bringing additional shame to his appearance.

      “Sherlock combs his hair on a regular basis, Mrs. Hudson.”

      “Remember who you’re talking to, lad.  I _do_ live with him.  Well, there’s nothing for it now, but show your manners, mind you.  Mr. Holmes, that’s the older not the younger, is going to be at table and he won’t stand for any rudeness or coarseness.  Puts him right off his meal and he falls into a very bad temper when that happens.  Alright, then… come along.”

Smarting as much as he did when he was small and suffered a scolding, John followed after the housekeeper into the library where he was commanded to have a seat while she informed the brothers Holmes he had arrived.  Apparently the information was quickly passed because it wasn’t a minute or two into Sherlock was barging into the library, skidding to a stop and quickly affecting his most supercilious air.

      “Oh, you are here.”

      “Something you knew because Mrs. Hudson already told you.”

      “Quite.  However, a tale told by another is not the same as proof from one’s own senses.”

The tone was rich with Sherlock’s normal conceit, however, there was also an undercurrent of something… gladness, perhaps… that was a very new thing, indeed.

      “I suppose that’s true.  Oh!  Those vials you ordered arrived today.  They look like what we need, so that’s going to be a help.”

      “Good.  That sets the agenda for tomorrow most handily.  Now, however, I trust you are hungry.  You generally are, so it is rather an unnecessary question, but Mrs. Hudson has demanded I be courteous, so there you have it.”

John was relieved to know that more than one person was suffering a reign of terror and he was specially chosen for the honor.

      “Well, you were _exceptionally_ courteous, so I think you’re safe from her wrath.”

      “It is rather difficult to be certain, unfortunately, for Mrs. Hudson does have a bounty of wrath to let spill.”

Sherlock’s serious expression failed slightly at John’s giggling, then failed more when John laughed at the failure.

      “Mycroft’s going to banish us from the dining room, isn’t he?”

      “He shall be too distracted by the flock of roasted chickens piled upon his plate to worry about us.  Besides, his hands will be busy with his cutlery to ring for anyone to lay hands upon us to hurl us into the street.”

      “Oh, well, good for us, then.  Shall we?”

      “If we wish to eat, yes.”

John smiled and felt a good measure of weight lift from his shoulders.  Whatever might be hiding under the sofa could keep its arse under the sofa for now.  There was certainly fun to be had tonight and why worry about anything else at present.  Roast chicken was calling and that was one call he was anxious to heed…

__________

      “Ah, Doctor Watson, how good to see you.”

Sherlock’s whispered ‘he’d be happier if you were one of his precious chickens’ started John giggling again and, with Sherlock’s lower tones supporting his own, earned both younger men a withering stare that followed them to their chairs, which were set so that all three dining companions were clustered at one end of the very long table.  Apparently, the Holmes brothers didn’t see the need for a more socially-appropriate spacing when it was friends and family at table.

      “I am happy you have found our home a jocular one.”

      “I’m sorry, Mycroft.  Just… a bit of joshing between Sherlock and me.  Thank you for having me here, it’s very kind of you.”

Mycroft hmmmm’d and began to wonder if his approval of this particular association might have been misguided.  Sherlock was sufficiently difficult to manage without an ally reinforcing his nonsense.

      “We are honored to host you for the evening.  I do have a rather formidable amount of work to see me through the evening, so I shall not be available beyond dinner, but I am certain Sherlock will keep you entertained.”

      “Oh, I have little doubt.  Greg said to pass along his greetings, as well.  He should be free in a day or two to call on you again, if you’re not bored by him yet.”

      “I believe there still may be a bit of interest to harvest from his person.  I shall welcome him here with scythe in hand.”

Why Sherlock thought his brother was a humorless husk was something John couldn’t fathom, but brothers always had their own little ways of viewing each other, didn’t they?  Regardless, it simply made the dynamics all that more enjoyable to watch.

      “I’ll tell him to prepare for a reaping.”

      “That is enough talk about Lestrade!  The conversation will now turn to more interesting topics.”

      “Of course, brother dear.  John, have you read in the newspapers about the increase in wool prices at market?  Do expect to pay a tad more for your fabrics in the weeks to come.”

Sherlock reached over and dragged Mycroft’s cutlery towards him to hold it hostage against his brother being buffoonish and contaminating their meal with his sadly underdeveloped sense of joviality.  

      “Fill your maw and leave John and I to ignore you completely.”

      “It is difficult to comply given there is naught on my plate but air and not even a spoon to partake of it.  Pursuant to that…”

Mycroft reached over and attempted to reclaim his utensils, snorting when Sherlock picked them off the table and twisted so they were well and truly out of Mycroft’s reach.

      “Behold, Doctor Watson.  The very reason we rarely entertain.  Sherlock quickly regresses into childhood and there will be, I assure you, some form of food flung in a fit of tantrum before we see the soup.”

      “Sherlock, if Mycroft has to eat with his fingers, so do you and...”

John leaned over the table and snatched away Sherlock’s cutlery _and_ his napkin.

      “… enjoy having to lick those fingers clean after every bite.”

      “That is villainous of you, John.”

      “There’s not a rule in any book that says I can’t be a doctor and a villain, so… return your stolen goods, if you please.”

Scowling mightily, Sherlock tossed the spoils of his larceny vaguely in Mycroft’s direction, which was utterly expected by Mycroft, but earned a stern finger-wagging from John.

      “One day, Mycroft’s going to go a bit violent on you, I suspect, and I can only hope I’m there to watch.  Entertainment like that I usually have to pay for and a free treat is always a welcome thing.”

      “My fleetness of foot ensures that any tendency to violence will be handily thwarted.  The pace at which my brother trudges through the house would pose no threat to a crippled octogenarian.”

Despite being the focus of his brother’s typically evil-spirited and juvenile banter, Mycroft observed it with tremendous glee.  How admirably the good doctor managed Sherlock and how little Sherlock’s naturally acidic nature corroded John’s regard.  Perhaps the hastily-considered rethinking his approval required _another_ rethinking to bring it back to cautiously hopeful… this was something _most_ interesting to behold… 

__________

And the beholding carried through the meal, which Mycroft had ordered served at a slighter more rapid than usual pace in deference to the more energetic natures of the younger men and the fact that this was only the first part of their evening, the rest waiting to begin away from his somewhat patriarchal eyes.

      “Well, that was the finest meal I’ve enjoyed in a very long time.  Your cook is a treasure, I must say.”

      “I shall pass along your compliments, Doctor Watson.  Now, if you will excuse me, I do have a number of matters awaiting my attention.  If I do not see you before you depart, have a good night, John.  Sherlock… kindly leave the house standing on its foundation.”

With that, Mycroft rose from the table and tried to smile as pleasantly at John as he was able.  Keeping the doctor confident in his friendship with Sherlock was paramount and if he had to strain his face in a manner that came easily with Gregory but pitifully difficult with most others, then he would strain gladly.  And, further, to be so gracious as to leave the boys undisturbed for the more personal part of their evening.  Mostly undisturbed, at least.  The likelihood they would discover his small amount of information gathering was happily low…

When Mycroft was well and truly gone, Sherlock nodded and leapt up to pantomime Mycroft’s measured gait and earned John throwing a lingering morsel of bread at him in rebuke.

      “Stop that.  Mycroft’s not a bad sort and certainly doesn’t deserve your slights and insults.”

      “If you had lived with him as many years as have I, you would sing a very different song.  Come, let us return to the library.  I am to offer you whatever takes your pleasure of Mycroft’s libations and something to smoke if your pleasure lies there, as well.”

      “Mrs. Hudson, again?”

      “Yes.  She scripted a list and made me recite her ridiculous points thrice today.”

Alright, Greg wasn’t joshing in the least about the sorcerous housekeeper.  Just because he was right about one thing, however, did not grant him correctness on any other point in their conversation.  None.  Not a bit.

       “I’m certain she didn’t want you to commit some social mishap that might make you feel awkward afterwards.”

      “Was that a serious response.”

      “It was supposed to be, but I realized how daft it sounded halfway through and decided that since I’d already though the words, I’d might as well say them and not be wasteful.”

      “Efficiency is always something for which to strive.”

      “Whisky?”

      “How is that efficient?”

      “I could have used lots of words and taken time to politely make inquiries about the availability of that particular blessing, but I opted for the shortest and quickest path instead.”

Sherlock gave John the smallest of grins and nodded his head in the direction of the library.

      “After you.”

John made a show of politely wiping his mouth and rose from the table, then strode as regally as possible out of the dining room.  Why was it that silly, ridiculous things were always so enjoyable with Sherlock, who was anything but silly and… well, yes, he _could_ be unimaginably ridiculous, but it wasn’t the same.  Unlike a certain explorer who was ridiculous in every possible way and would _not_ be informed about the content of any of his thoughts this evening.  Greg was insufferable enough without adding wood to the fire…

__________

Greg would not hear about _any_ of this!  He’d tell a tale of cordial, inoffensive conversation and not mention the penetrating feeling of being exactly where he wanted to be in this world and relishing every moment of it.  They’d talked for hours!  No work, just conversation and a warm fire that failed to warm as toastily as a few glasses of good whisky and Sherlock’s deep and throaty laughter.

      “Good heavens, look at the hour.  I’d say I’m sorry I kept you awake, Sherlock, but we both know that would be another thing to laugh at.”

      “True.  You… you are not preparing to leave, are you?”

      “I thought I would, yes.  We do have a lot to do tomorrow and an early start is usually the way to see it done.”

Sherlock worrying his lower lip was an adorable thing in John’s opinion, which was yet one more thing on his growing list of things Greg Lestrade would never hear about as long as they lived.

      “I suppose you have a point.  However…”

      “Yes?”

      “I had hoped you might… enjoy hearing some music.”

      “Oh.  You have one of those music boxes?”

      “Actually, yes, but I was referring to a performed piece.”

      “What do you… oh.  Oh!  Your violin!  Yes, actually… that would be something I would certainly like to hear.”

This smile of Sherlock’s was the one John enjoyed seeing the most – the tiny, shyly-pleased one that meant he’d struck a chord inside the younger man and, sadly, had a suspicion it wasn’t a chord often struck in Sherlock’s life.

      “Very well.  Please save your applause and adulations until I have completed.”

While John laughed, Sherlock moved to get his violin from the case he’d previously stored in the library and, after a few moments preparation, began to play…

__________

      “Oof.”

      “Oh, do pardon me, Mrs. Hudson.  But, why on Earth are you loitering in a darkened passageway of my house?”

      “Same reason you are, Mr. Holmes.”

      “You desired a late-night restorative of energies?”

      “Maybe.”

      “The kitchen is not in this direction.”

      “Then you’re lying as much as I am, now aren’t you?”

      “Lying is an ugly term.”

      “Sometimes what’s ugly is true.  He plays beautifully, doesn’t he?  Lovelier tonight than I’ve heard him in ever so long.  There’s meaning in that, there is.”

      “I have no idea to what you are referring.”

      “Mr. Lestrade won’t be commenting favorably on your appearance anymore, because you’ll be very, very ugly from all the lies you’re telling.”

      “Female hysteria at its finest showing.”

      “If I ever show any inclination to hysteria, you’d probably run towards Wales and not look back, if you value the hair on your head.  And face.  And other regions that shall go nameless, but remember I’ve seen you without your shirt and know what a forest you’ve got growing under all that fine fabric.”

Mycroft’s shocked gasp was waved off by the housekeeper who turned back to the library door and smiled brightly.  Mr. Sherlock Holmes… the boy had a rare way with music, but the way he was playing now… that was something more than talent.  You didn’t play that way unless your heart was in it, unless there was real emotion making those notes soar.

      “Shouldn’t a woman of your years be resting at this hour?”

      “A woman of my years should be having a gin at this hour, but someone I know will probably glare at me if I raise a glass and that’s something to give a body nightmares, so your resting business is properly dead and buried.”

This time it was Mycroft waving off the words aimed at him and making his own smile over Mrs. Hudson’s head as he leaned in to better hear his brother play.  What a glorious sound it was, and all the more glorious because it was tragically rare that his brother showed his soul in such an unabashed manner.

      “Doctor Watson best know what’s what or I’ll give him a thump he won’t forget.”

      “Mrs. Hudson… do not assault Sherlock’s… potential.”

      “The potential will get an honest thump if he leaves his head inserted in his arse and doesn’t vie for our Sherlock’s hand.”

      “Such things must be treated delicately, though I realize fully that you are most unfamiliar with the concept.”

      “If Doctor Watson is any more delicate, he’ll snap in twain like a piece of kindling.”

Something Mycroft worried was actually the case.  The doctor certainly did not demonstrate the romantic courage Gregory evinced, but, then, few did.  However, it would not take a great deal of silence before Sherlock interpreted the lack of interest as just that and something very promising would wither on the vine.  His brother did need a friend and Doctor Watson fit that description nicely, however… there was a deeper row to plough and one he’d always prayed, but never expected, to happen to his dear Sherlock.

      “Let us keep a good thought.”

      “Thoughts, delicacy… if we relied on the males of the species to take charge of seeing matches made, the world would be a sight lonelier than it is now, which is a terrible thing to contemplate.”

      “Mrs. Hudson, do not interfere.”

      “Why not?  Hoping to keep all of the meddling, and the fun of meddling, to yourself?”

Yes.

      “What a ludicrous notion.”

      “Don’t worry, there’s enough to share, so don’t be greedy.”

      “Sherlock is both suspicious of and becomes stubborn from undue attention to his affairs.  It would take little to discomfort him into abandoning… whatever it is he is mulling.”

      “That’s true, more’s the pity.  Well, we know how to handle him and your Mr. Lestrade can manage Doctor Watson. Man has to have some use besides wandering the hither and yon.”

      “Gregory is possessed of bountiful uses, I am certain.”

      “Something I expect you’ll have a marvel of a time discovering, but you remember the poor woman who tends your house and enjoys a nice story or two with her tea.  The more scandalous the better.”

      “No.”

      “It’s true!  I adore a bit of whispering and secrets with a few biscuits in the afternoon.  Or morning.  The hour really isn’t the important thing.”

      “I mean, no, I shall not be regaling you with details of my and Gregory’s romantic activities.”

      “Can’t meddle, can’t have a good story… can I breathe? Is that allowed?”

      “If you do it quietly.”

      “Thank you kindly, sir.  You’re a true gentleman.”

      “Yes, it is one of my myriad of talents.”

With that settled, two sets of ears turned attention back to the music flowing from the library and knew that the other would take great care and use every tool in their arsenal to nudge the forward anything that could possibly be nudged.  Prudently and with full knowledge of all things Sherlock, the nudging _would_ occur and Mycroft had no doubt that Lestrade would certainly add his sword to the battle.  It was a rare, pitifully rare, thing that two men could find someone with whom to share any measure of affection in this life and this was not an opportunity to waste.  And, of course, any measure of responsibility for Sherlock-minding that could be shifted onto another’s shoulders, especially medically-certified shoulders, would be heartily appreciated…

__________

John knew very well the meaning of words such as captivated and transfixed, but he didn’t truly understand them until he listened to Sherlock play.  It was nearly a rapturous experience.  Sherlock didn’t simply play, he bewitched the air with the most mesmerizing sounds and created a reality that filled the library with something that was pure and beautiful and utterly transcended anything John had seen or heard in his life.  When it came to an end, the doctor nearly winced at the pain of regret that the world no longer rang with the sound of Sherlock and his violin.

      “That… that was amazing.”

      “You think so?”

      “It was… I’ve never heard the like, not as long as I’ve lived.  Sherlock… that was breathtaking.”

Nearly as breathtaking as the smile that was working its way across Sherlock’s lips and the tiniest of rosy hues that warmed his cheeks, already aglow from the light of the fire.

      “I… I am pleased you enjoyed it.”

      “I did.  When you said you played, I didn’t… I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t something that beautiful.  That exquisite.  I honestly don’t think I can describe it properly.  Do you… do you play often?”

      “It helps me think.”

      “So, yes?”

      “Yes.”

      “Glorious.  It must be a joy, really, to live here and be able to listen to you.”

      “I receive little praise, let alone reward for my efforts.  Mrs. Hudson has been known to hide my bow so that I cannot play after what she deems ‘an hour a body is supposed to see their beds.’  It is the burden of my existence that I must reside with those who actually view sleep as a useful thing.”

John grinned and grinned more widely when Sherlock set down his instrument and joined the doctor on the sofa.

      “That’s just horrible.  How dare she demand she gets the biologically-necessary amount of sleep so she can do her job and other silly things like live.”

      “I am eternally plagued by the daily burdens of others.”

John grinned again had it freeze on his face when Sherlock reached over and took his hand to hold.

      “Wh… what are you doing, Sherlock?”

      “I believe it is most apparent.”

      “You’re holding my hand.”

      “Yes, and I see, now, why Mycroft was content with the gesture.  It… it is rather nice.  Your hand is surprisingly supple for the degree of manual labor you have performed.”

      “Sherlock… this… this isn’t done.”

      “I assure you it is; I have testimony to the fact.”

      “No, I mean… this isn’t what… _we’re_ supposed to do.”

      “In that, you are quite mistaken.  Witness your complete failure to pull away your hand, despite your feeble protestations.”

Something John was now noticing, as well.  His brain was yelling at him to jerk his hand away from Sherlock’s long, talented fingers and not a muscle or nerve of his arm was seeing fit to obey.  This was the under-the-sofa phantasm come to haunt!  And its beastliness was… not quite so beastly as he’d expected.  Or feared.  Or worried would rend what bond he and Sherlock had started to form.  Not that he was necessarily prepared to admit any of it.

      “I’m being polite.”

      “We will work on improving your ability to dissemble tomorrow while we work.  I am supremely capable of performing two tasks at once and instruction on crafting a convincing lie will fail utterly to distract from our task at hand.”

Which… sounded just like Sherlock.  Hands were being held, but Sherlock was still being his aggravating and arrogant self.  And tomorrow would probably be a normal, irritating day working on their research, bickering through every step along the path while they had a fantastic time and gained real pleasure both from the accomplishment and the company.  Oh… this was dangerous.  Very, very dangerous…

      “Sherlock… you know how dangerous this is, don’t you?”

      “Something you appreciate else you would not ply your trade where there are native uprisings every fortnight, along with the occasional elephant stampede, quagmire of quicksand and peckish lion pride.”

      “That’s entirely untrue.  The native people do _not_ go on rampages every fortnight.”

      “And the rest?”

      “That bit may be true.”

      “My case is made.”

      “No, it’s not.  And… if I’m honest, this isn’t… this isn’t something I seek out, or even _want_ to seek out, if it’s available.”

      “Explain.”

      “I’m a normal fellow, Sherlock.  I… I’ve always planned on having a normal life, expeditions and the like, notwithstanding.  I like it that way.  No worries or hazards or things that might find me looking out from the barred window of a cell because I smiled too warmly at the gent I was walking with.”

      “Then you avoid that side of your nature out of fear.”

      “NO!  No, it’s not… it’s not necessarily like that.  I fancy women, Sherlock.  I do.  The fact that… now and again I see a fellow that sparks my interest doesn’t undo that one bit.  Why buy myself a barrel of trouble when it’s not necessary?”

      “Yet, you remain unmarried.”

      “So are many men my age!  I’ve not avoided marrying a woman because I’m longing for a bloke, I’ve just never met anyone, male or female, I _wanted_ to marry.  I’ll admit that I’ve not put forth much effort towards meeting men, don’t mingle with the part of society that does… it doesn’t mean I’m scared, though.  My life is fine, just fine, without the additional problems and complications.”

      “Hmmm… I concede that living under the rules of civilization is a draining thing and stagnates progress on all fronts, especially the intellectual and scientific, however one must sometimes run contrary to the norm if one is to lead a life that is fulfilling by one’s own standards.”

      “My life _is_ fulfilling.”

      “Then why aren’t you releasing my hand?”

Why indeed… this was _not_ what he came here to do.  What he’d _not_ wanted to do, in point of fact, but… there you have it.  Miserable, traitorous thing at the end of his arm…

      “I have a chill.”

      “You have an interest.”

      “That’s your words, not mine.”

      “Mine are inherently better than yours, so my argument shall be the one to stand.  Now, since we have begun the process of instigating a romantic entanglement…”

      “We’ve done no such thing!”

Sherlock held up their joined hands, pointed and glared his finest ‘really, don’t be stupid, John’ glare.

      “Don’t glare at me!”

      “Then don’t be stupid.  There, we have had our first official argument as a romantic couple.  I believe that is a healthy pace for our progress, so we may discuss tomorrow what next typical act of coupledom we shall hurdle.  Between that and your practice with duplicity, we certainly shall not lack for conversation.  To facilitate the discourse, I shall bring with me some of the tea Mrs. Hudson purchases upon which you have commented so favorably.  Ah!  A gift!  This is going quite well, wouldn’t you say?  Apparently, I am remarkably talented with this romance business.”

Sherlock was so utterly self-satisfied, that John burst out laughing and gave Sherlock’s hand a squeeze of support.  There was no kicking things under the sofa anymore, that much was certain.  And, frankly, at this particular moment, John found himself caring scarcely a whit. The likelihood this would explode like a keg of black powder directly in his face was vertiginously high, but Sherlock was right about one thing… if he was a man to shy away from danger or the uncertain, his life would have followed a very different path.  And, really, what dangers and uncertainties could Africa offer that surpassed those presented by one Sherlock Holmes…


	18. Chapter 18

      “Cease.”

      “Pardon?”

      “You are well aware.”

      “I assure you that I am not.”

      “Feigned ignorance does not become you, Mycroft.”

      “While I admit to the rarity of the event, I must confess to complete ignorance in the present matter of your disgruntlement.”

      “You are humming.”

      “Am I?  Dear me, was I off key?”

      “It is unutterably annoying and putting me entirely off my breakfast.”

      “In that case, I shall have Cook see that infernal hound of yours provided with your leavings.”

      “Toby is not infernal!  He is a valuable asset to my work and, unlike you, is a keen devotee of science.”

      “Your acolyte was caught just yesterday preparing to provide my plants with water his internals no longer deemed necessary for survival.”

      “That Toby has an investigatory spirit and is dedicated to knowing the environment in which he finds himself is a credit to his character.”

      “Your hound slipped his rope in the kitchen and marauded through my house, bringing death and dismemberment to one pair of my slippers and it shall take a skilled craftsman to repair the damage perpetrated by his teeth to the leg of the settee in the drawing room.”

      “Proving that Toby’s taste exceeds yours in more than a single arena.  That settee was atrocious.”

      “It was your grandmother’s, do remember.”

      “Now proving that Toby has more admirable aesthetic sensibilities than two members of my family.  Since he would certainly rend to shreds Mummy’s ridiculous hats, that is a full _three_ Holmes’s he has vaulted, in terms of artistic point of view.”

      “Keep your canine under control, Sherlock, or he shall find himself at the butcher’s shop and not to receive a hearty bone for a job well done.”

      “The sight of your inflated flesh giving chase to capture him would be an event for which I could see a grand sum through the selling of tickets and refreshments.”

Mycroft waved off his brother’s nonsense, while quietly giving thanks that Sherlock’s newly-christened association with a certain doctor had not altered his brother in the slightest.  While ameliorating Sherlock’s behavior was always to be lauded, it would be a tragic thing if romance began to fundamentally change the boy who had so much to offer this world, even if the world had to be sat down and given a lecture to understand what it was that was _being_ offered.

      “Of course, the musical composition you would compose and hum along with your escapades would lose me my fortune as the audience would surely demand a refund of their ticket price to compensate for suddenly being rendered deaf by the cacophony.”

      “You are in a most colorful mood this morning, Sherlock.  I take it your evening with John was pleasant.”

      “We performed an examination and focused dissection of the cadaver of a man who had succumbed to a disease he contracted while traveling in South America.  It was a splendid evening from all perspectives.”

      “Of course.  It is a joy when a couple has shared interests.”

The several days of Sherlock’s romance had been marked by similar such exploits and that John had yet to flee to save his soul spoke loudly as to the doctor’s intentions.  If only _he_ could have claimed similar, but matters had arisen that had kept him from visiting with his Gregory, even when the explorer’s time was freed from his own responsibilities.  That, however, was about to change.

      “Along those lines, am I to conclude from your besotted warbling that the message you hold is from Lestrade?”

Do you mean this message?  The one scribed by the manliest of hands?  That has the subtle waft of oak and spice and the heat of the sun that perfume Gregory’s skin?

      “It is.  I was forced, to my deep regret, to decline his most recent invitation, but he has issued another and, for this one, there is no obstacle to my acceptance.”

      “That acceptance should include a forceful attempt, such as I have undertaken with John, to dissuade him from next week’s sojourn to disaster.”

      “While I agree Mummy’s gathering shall not bring us joy, Gregory is most adamant about attending.  From what I gather, it is a mindset shared fully by your Doctor Watson.”

      “John has an aggravating tendency not to accept my word on matters as perfect fact and demands to make decisions for himself.”

      “Yes, truly a quality unsuitable for either a doctor or an explorer.”

Sherlock’s snort was wholly expected, but, that his brother was obviously enduring the situation with what, for Sherlock, was spectacular good grace further gave Mycroft confidence that the blossoming romance was a very good thing for all parties involved.

      “I allow him his delusions in the spirit of romantic harmony.”

      “Most magnanimous of you.  So there is little doubt, I’m afraid, that we shall sit at Mummy’s table, slowly withering from the inanity of the conversation and dimwittedness of the those who are espousing it.  If we are highly fortunate, we might convince Gregory, as well as Mummy, that an extended stay is not possible at this time and our suffering shall be minimized.”

      “It would take very little on your part to have an uprising staged, so our presence is immediately required in London.”

      “I shall consider that course of action only if Mummy turns the direction of the evening to dancing.  Across that line, my feet shall not step and if there need be loss of life to prevent it, I shall not waver.”

      “Finally you show a modicum of backbone, which is fortunate since your bulk could not be supported if even a smidgen of your internal architecture was compromised.  Now, must I feel the pain of Lestrade’s presence this evening or will you require Toby’s lead to take Lestrade into the city?”

      “Gregory has suggested taking in a musical performance tonight and I find that a highly agreeable suggestion.  Then, I will offer a quiet hour or two here for conversation.”

      “And hand-holding.”

      “If that occurs, I shall surely not complain.”

      “I will be in my laboratory with a heavy cloth pressed to the bottom of the door so none of your juvenile adoration can insinuate itself near my person.”

      “Yes, it would be a terrible thing if you were to feel inadequate, sensing the ripeness of the regard Gregory and I share.”

      “As ripeness integrates most superbly with the concept of age, I will let your comment stand as you have given yourself sufficient insult for my satisfaction.  I am now leaving to being my work.  John has secured permission for access to other samples brought back on his expedition and we will examine them for points of interest towards our research.”

      “An noble endeavor, I am certain.  Good day to you, then, and do try to leave the Geographical Society standing when you depart this evening.”

Sherlock’s response was exactly as rude as Mycroft predicted, but it hastened his brother’s race from the table so the remainder of breakfast could proceed in peace.  A case of indigestion would do his day no good and the very last thing he wanted was to have a sour mood when his dear Gregory arrived for their evening.  An evening that would not occur if he did not reply to the morning’s message, however.  Must remember that devotion could not be mystically transmitted through the ether no matter the degree of ritualistic stroking of the paper of a missive.  However, a bit more trying would not be amiss…

__________

Alright… washed, shaved, dressed and in front of Mycroft’s door with a flock of pigeons fluttering in the stomach.  Time to knock.

      “Thought you’d died.”

Hello, Mrs. Hudson.

      “Not yet.  A few of the lectures I gave made me consider that rather seriously, though.”

      “I hope you intend to pay Mr. Holmes handsomely for leaving him lonely and sad these past months.”

      “Days!  It’s only been a few days!”

      “Not in this house.  I keep expecting to hear carols being sung the length of time my employer has been pining.”

Pining… was there a lovelier word?  Well, ‘Mycroft’ ranked up near the top, as well, but that was a name so it fell into a different category.  But, put the two together and that was a song fit for the angels…

      “I know for a fact that Mycroft’s been busy, so you are simply telling tales, Mrs. Hudson.  But, do feel free to provide any details you might see fit to add so I have a better picture of your unchecked imagination.”

      “Pining away like a girl whose young man has gone off to sea.  I think he was happy with all that business he had to manage for that situation I can’t mention because I’m not supposed to know about it, but if it was really something highly important and secret, Mr. Holmes knows to leave the key in the door to his study so I can’t have a listen as easily as I usually do… in any case, it distracted him from his longing sighs.”

Reaching up, Mrs. Hudson straightened Lestrade’s scarf and smoothed his lapels before pushing him in the direction of the library and giggling when he turned around to blow her a kiss before continuing on.

      “May I come in?”

Mycroft restarted his heart and hoped his gasp hadn’t been audible to his guest.  Gregory in warm tones was a vision.  Gregory in rich tones of deepest blue was also a vision and one he was contented to sit and gaze upon all evening.

      “I would be most aggrieved if you did not.”

Smiling widely, the explorer crossed the threshold and took a deep breath to fill his nose with the scent of leather furnishings, wood polish and the pages of books.

      “I adore this room, you know.  This and the conservatory are the best rooms in the house.  At least of those I’ve seen.”

Wink not at me, villain.  And do, of course, realize that the veil of propriety my thoughts are wearing is gossamer thin and well-provided with moth holes.

      “You are an immoral man, Gregory Lestrade.”

      “Which adds to my already enormous appeal.”

      “Most certainly.  Come closer, my dear, so I might see better the wickedness of your dastardly visage.”

Lestrade laughed and took four very large steps forward to close some of the distance to Mycroft, then numerous tiny steps to put him toe to toe with the man seated in his comfortable chair.

      “Close enough or shall I bend down so you can count the warts on my nose?”

That would be the most perilous act in the history of acts for the internal tumult it would produce might send the world into chaos, given the pleasurable death of the one who toiled daily to hold the chaos at bay.

      “You have nary a single wart and you are well aware of that fact, you scamp.”

Mycroft tutted at Lestrade’s scandalized ‘Me, a scamp?’ expression and found it naturally blending into a warm chuckle as the explorer hopped back and extended his hand to assist Mycroft out of his chair.

      “There we are.  You look lovely tonight, Mr. Holmes, if I’m permitted to say.”

Permitted?  Encouraged wholeheartedly, especially since you have yet to release my hand and are clasping it in both of yours.

      “I suppose it will not perturb me unduly.”

      “Most gracious of you, sir.  It’s going to be an honor to escort you for an evening of music.  I think you’ll enjoy the performance, too.  I hear the singer is very much the talk of London if you’ve a taste for sopranos.”

      “One who is both talented and well-trained can be a delight, though I hear their temperaments tend towards the dramatic, which I suppose is appropriate for their choice of material.”

      “I’ve known a few in my day and some are definitely dramatic and, truth be told, tiresome after a few glasses of wine, but nothing compares to a contralto who got both the talent and the beauty to ensnare even the hardest of hearts.  Like meeting the Queen of Hearts when she’s got an axe and wants to play.”

      “Oh my, that does sound fearsome.  You say you have acquaintance with such a person?”

      “Given the number of lectures and presentations I make and the parties and dinners I have to attend, I can proudly say I knew a few such persons.  I meet a variety of people when I’m in London and I have to say it’s interesting more often than it’s not.  I mean… I met you, didn’t I?”

And, with a devilish twinkle in his eye, Lestrade lifted Mycroft’s hand and laid on it a soft kiss, drinking in Mycroft’s noticeable reaction to the contact.

      “Shall we go, Mycroft?”

Once I restore my composure after the rather profound effects of your demonstration of affection, we certainly shall.  It has seemed a century since I have experienced the wonder of your touch…

      “I believe we shall, else Mrs. Hudson shall visit us with her most strident wrath.  I believe she is most anxious to partake of my spirits, my chair and my fire while we are out.”

      “I don’t blame her in the slightest.  This really is a splendid room.”

      “One, perhaps, we might enjoy for a time when we return, if you are amenable.”

      “Absolutely.  Mrs. Hudson will even keep the chair warm for you.  I just hope she leaves enough whisky for a glass or two while we talk.”

Mycroft squeezed Lestrade’s hand lightly, then released his grip and walked to the small array of decanters, lifting one to a high shelf, quite beyond his housekeeper’s reach.

      “Fear not, for we shall have whisky aplenty.”

      “Perfect!  You truly are a brilliant man.”

      “I do my best.”

__________

Maybe he’d felt a touch forward asking a favor of one of the RGS patrons to secure the tickets for the performance, but the man owned the bloody building for heaven’s sake and had nearly leaped out of his shoes when he learned that Mycroft Holmes would be attending the evening’s performance.  Apparently, Mycroft rarely participated in social events and even having him in the audience for a concert was something to be coveted by people who valued social events and kept score of who could boast the most exalted attendees to their functions.  The small amount of pre-performance time spent sipping an acceptable brandy with a few of the fellow’s friends was a small price to pay for excellent seats that allowed ample room for his companion’s comfort and, if he was to be honest, the chance to show off his Mycroft, who was unquestionably the most elegant and graceful man in the hall.

      “Well, I have to say that was a grand time.”

      “I do agree.  My last foray to a vocal performance was certainly not so pleasant.  The woman screeched far more than she sang and my ears did not forgive me for a fortnight.  This, however, was an excellent display of musical ability and I must thank you, Gregory, for making such a thing possible.”

Lestrade smiled and his eyes lingered a moment on Mycroft’s savoring the honest happiness they contained.

      “And, now, we have whisky to rescue, I believe.  May I assist you with your coat, Mr. Holmes?”

This time, the smile was Mycroft’s, who joyfully allowed Lestrade to play valet for the moment, taking his coat, hat and stick to set aside in the entrance for one of the servants to put away properly.  And he had no hesitation performing the same service for the man who had gifted him with yet another delightful night of camaraderie.  One that was now taking them to the library for the luxury of conversation with someone with whom such a thing was both pleasant and coveted.

And, as always, the conversation flowed naturally in a myriad of directions that neither would have predicted, but enjoyed to the fullest, furthering the desire to have this as part of their lives on a very regular basis.

      “He sounds horrid!”

      “I assure you, a political title does not grant one a scintillating personality.”

      “I must admit I’ve come to the same conclusion.  I meet a lot of people from all walks of life and there’s no predicting who’ll you’ll actually come to know when you meet them based on the title they wear of job they do.”

      “Your sopranos and contraltos, for example.”

      “Exactly!  I’m still rather caught up in tonight’s music, though.  A good night of song and it stays with you, do you think?”

      “I do, in truth.  Whether there are songs to be sung or simply a score to be played, when such are done well, the impact does linger.  It is uncommon for me to partake of such as a live performance, but I do have a small collection of exceptional recordings that I enjoy during quiet evenings.”

      “You do?”

      “I do.  Between Sherlock’s love of music and my own, I have keenly followed the progress of recording and playing music and have, if I might boast slightly, attempted to remain most current in the various devices developed for those purposes.”

      “Boast away because that is a wonderful thing.  Can we… would you play something?  I’d very much enjoy a spot of music with my fine whisky.”

Nodding in agreement, Mycroft rose and moved towards a cabinet which Lestrade saw housed a music player which, in short order was projecting sounds throughout the room.

      “I hope the piece is to your liking.”

      “It’s beautiful.  I don’t get to hear much beyond music hall offerings, especially when I’m away from London and this is… oh, I’d be a lazy fellow with one of those in my possession.  Sit and listen for hours, I could, and not regret a bit of it.”

      “A sentiment I share.  I must confess that I am known to set aside work for an hour or so in the evening and relax to the sound of a fine recording.  I placed another device in the conservatory so that I indulge in such there, as well, and the combination has been profoundly helpful when a particularly difficult matter has weighed on my mind.”

      “Fantastic!  I’m glad to hear that, because you certainly deserve all the ease you can.  I can’t imagine the burdens you shoulder, Mycroft, but it’s comforting to know that you’re the one shouldering them and not some twit who can scarcely be trusted to make decisions about the day’s trousers!”

Preening was most unseemly, so that certainly was not what Mycroft was doing at the moment.

      “That is kind of you, Gregory.  It is not often that my contributions are recognized or _can_ be recognized, in any manner.  A supportive word is not something to which I am used to receiving.”

      “That is something I plan to change.  All the supportive words you can bear, that’s what you’re going to get.  Be warned.”

Lestrade grinned a grin he knew would send Mycroft’s internals into a tizzy and was rewarded with the particular smothered smile that said Mycroft was exceedingly pleased and shy about divulging that fact.

      “I am bracing for a most ferocious onslaught.”

      “And you’ll get it, I won’t disappoint you in that.  Oh, this really is a lovely piece of music.  You say you have more?”

      “A good many more.”

And a large addition to his collection would begin tomorrow.  If his Gregory appreciated fine music, his Gregory would never be without it.

      “A brilliant thing, that is.  That means a lot of opportunities.”

      “For what?”

      “For this.”

Setting down his whisky, Lestrade rose and bowed slightly before extending his hand to the man looking at him quizzically from his chair.

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “I’m waiting.”

      “Is it pleasant?”

      “Actually, yes, but it’s going to be more pleasant when you join me.”

      “Gregory, I am entirely without knowledge…”

      “Oh, that’s not true.  You’re simply hoping I’ll believe you don’t understand and take a measure of pity because of it.  That won’t happen because I do very much want to dance with you, Mycroft.”

      “D… dance?”

      “I’m an amazing dancer, if you’re worried.  Won’t step on your toes once.”

      “I… Gregory, I am sorry, but I do not dance.”

      “You do and you know you do.  You had lessons when you were a lad, didn’t you?  Had to dance at the balls and parties, too.  I _know_ you can dance, so here’s a chance to show your skill.”

Oh, if his Mycroft’s eyes got any larger, they’d pop out and roll across the floor but that wasn’t going to put an end to this.  Mycroft Holmes was the epitome of grace and a man like that had to be an incredible dancer.  Incredible at other things, too, but those would have to wait for a later time.

      “Gregory…”

      “There’s nobody to watch, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That was _partly_ the root of the problem.  The lamb’s share.  The lion’s share was that Gregory was certainly a talented dancer and…

      “Stop thinking and come dance with me.  I promise, we can be very proper about it, too.  Just like you’d expect at one of those grand parties.”

Flapping his hand a few times to encourage Mycroft along, Lestrade waited for the deep sigh he knew would be coming and which would precede his target rising and favoring him with a ‘I am simply doing this to humor you’ look.

      “There we are.  I’ll start the music again and we can get started.”

Lestrade tried not to laugh at the enormous put-upon groan that accompanied his re-starting the music, then took position in front of Mycroft and waited.

      “Well?”

      “Gregory, you are being most confounding.”

      “It’s your home, so I assumed you’d prefer to lead.”

      “Oh… yes.  Quite.”

Watching Mycroft try to position his arms before making contact was another thing Lestrade tried not to laugh at, but, this time, he failed and took the initiative himself to take Mycroft’s hands and place them properly to start the dance.

      “Perfect.  Now, shall we?”

How?  How to do anything with his hand on Gregory’s body?  He could hardly draw breath!  Even through the layers of garments he could feel the contour of the explorer’s form and… it was the stuff of dreams.

      “Mycroft?  Are you going to move or is this going to be the slowest dance in the history of dancing?”

      “What?  Oh… yes, I suppose motion is somewhat required.”

Slowly, Mycroft began to direct a series of steps remembered from the time he had been forced to engage with a partner at a dance and felt agog at the ease with which the steps flowed, now that he had a partner who ‘fit,’ for lack of a better term.

      “Wonderful.  Simply wonderful.  I knew you would be a marvel on your feet, Mycroft.  The way you move, the way you carry yourself…so graceful and in command…”

Gregory was speaking pure balderdash, but he would not step in to provide correction.  At best, he was perfunctorily performing the necessary steps for this particular dance, but certainly with none of the confidence and natural movement as the man who acted as his partner.  The jungle cats his Gregory must have seen would be envious of the felinity of the motions.

      “And, it’s alright to look at me, you know.  I know who I’m dancing with, so you don’t have to keep your eyes averted in case I realize who it is waltzing me around the library.”

Impossible.  It was simply not possible to feel the grace of Gregory’s form and make eye contact.  The intimacy was too great… and too greatly desired…

      “You _can_ do it, Mycroft.  Look at me. Just for a moment and see how it feels.”

Mycroft knew how it would feel and feared terribly how utterly undone he would be from the act, but obediently moved his eyes to look into Lestrade’s and felt the world fall dark around him as he was captivated by the light they held.

      “That’s better.  You do have lovely eyes, you know.  So bright and blue.  I can’t say I’ve ever known a fellow as handsome as you, Mycroft.  You are positively unique in my experience and I find myself struggling, at times, not to stare and look a fool for doing it.”

Especially when Mycroft’s cheeks pinked slightly from a compliment.  Not many men flushed with such a beautiful glow, but Mycroft did and it was a joy to behold.

      “You are a flatterer, Gregory Lestrade.”

      “I’m honest.  Nothing more.  And, since I’m being honest…”

Lestrade plucked Mycroft’s hand off of his waist and moved a tad closer before reaching and letting Mycroft’s hand settle on his back instead.

      “Gr… Gregory… this is certainly not…”

      “It’s not many things but one thing it _is_ would be marvelous.  And see!  Still space between us, just… just a little more warmth and there’s nothing that can be called wrong with that.”

Oh, the wrongness was profound but Mycroft was having an extraordinarily difficult time caring about it.  Gregory was in his arms!  Well, arm, but that was more than sufficient.  It was the way you held someone quite close to you when you danced.  Not a stranger or a casual acquaintance, but someone with whom you had a deep and acknowledged connection.  A… a fiancé perhaps.  Or a spouse.  Neither of which could he be to Gregory, but… oh, this was intoxicating…

For his part, the explorer followed Mycroft’s lead, which was becoming more and more fluid now that his Holmes had lost himself in the experience and was simply allowing himself to feel and enjoy.  And the slight trembling in his limbs said Mycroft was enjoying it more than a touch, which was most satisfactory to _him_.

      “Brilliant, musical, a splendid dancer, the most interesting conversationalist in the world, so handsome the Old Masters would have fought to paint your portrait… you are a treasure, Mycroft.  A glorious treasure and I am honored beyond description that you allow me into your life this way.”

Using Mycroft’s sputtering as a distraction, Lestrade moved just a tiny bit closer so that his layers of cloth contacted Mycroft’s, which sent the sputtering to an unprecedented level.

      “Gregory!”

      “Want me to step back?”

No.  Yes.  Mostly no.  But some yes.  But overwhelmingly no.  The yes was birthed from the years of beating into his brain what was right and wrong, proper and improper, allowed and disallowed… but in his own home, where none would know or pass judgment… shouldn’t his rules and his law hold sway?

      “N…no.  I was simply startled for a moment.”

      “It is startling, isn’t it?  When you can hold something in your hand that you’ve wanted so desperately.  Something you thought you’d never find, let alone have.  It _is_ a startling thing, but I’m not one to take advantage, so don’t think that you can’t ever say ‘no’ or ‘stop.’  You can and I’ll obey immediately.  I… well, I want this to last, don’t I?  You don’t do that by making the other person uncomfortable or ignoring their wishes.  So, I won’t.  Don’t ever forget that.”

Of course, that didn’t mean he couldn’t press a permission already given and move slightly so that Mycroft could feel the tiniest bit of rubbing against the skin under his clothes.  And, did he receive a sharply sucked-in breath as his prize.  Why, yes.  Yes, he did…

__________

Neither men noticed when the music ended and it was only the heavy thud of Sherlock-sized feet stomping on the stairs on their way to the kitchen that alerted the pair that time had been passing despite their lack of attention.

      “I suspect our night might be drawing to a close, my dear Gregory.”

      “If the lad’s moving about, I think you’re right.  Probably seething with jealousy that we’re having such a delightful time and he’s only got… what is it he’s got in his lab tonight?”

      “Something concerning pinworms, I believe.  I admit that I heed little of his mutterings and have attuned my hearing to catch only certain tangents that are likely to bring about some form of death or destruction to the household.”

      “That’s likely wise.  I wager you have an early morning ahead of you, too, don’t you?”

      “You would win that wager handily.  A meeting of some importance with those who do not deserve my intervention, but shall receive it nonetheless.”

      “Then, I suppose I best be going.  But first… can I do one thing?”

      “I… perhaps?”

      “It’s not painful, I promise you that.  It’s just… well, I didn’t get a chance to lead now, did I?  For a moment, just a brief one…”

Lestrade kept his eyes locked with Mycroft’s as he draped an arm alongside Mycroft’s flank, pressing a little closer than before and very slowly moved Mycroft a few steps one way and then the other, practically holding up the larger man whose legs had suddenly gone watery.

      “Would you be shocked to learn I’ve wanted this since I met you?  To hold you in my arms, if only to dance a bit?  Of course, I hope that’s only the first of the many ways I’ll get to hold you, but this is more than enough for now.  There’s no manner in which I can put it into words how good this feels, but… oh, let’s just dance a little more and maybe you’ll understand.”

Understand?  That required intellect and _that_ required a functional brain, which he certainly did _not_ have at the moment.  Gregory was pressed against him, his strong arm guiding them both through the library, the other attached to a hand that was caressing his as they moved.  It was positively sinful and the most wondrous sensation in existence.  If he could but stop trembling, the circumstances would define the concept of perfection.

      “I’m glad you don’t often dance, Mycroft, because the idea of anyone else sharing this with you is a terrible thing.  I mean, I know it’s demanded at certain functions and you have a status to maintain, but… don’t let anyone else lead, alright?”

Lestrade smiled very wickedly and held Mycroft a little tighter as his partner’s watery legs changed state from liquid to gas and a bit of additional support was required.

      “I… perish the thought.  Such a thing I would never allow to occur.”

And, to show his resolve, Mycroft drew in a deep breath and placed the smallest of kisses on Lestrade’s knuckles, something that worked counter to his constitution somewhat, as Lestrade then ran their joined hands along Mycroft’s jaw so the explorer’s fingers could brush against Mycroft’s beard.

      “Simply a marvel.  But a marvel that needs his rest or he’ll be useless tomorrow and I can’t have the fall of England on my conscience.”

Frankly, at the moment, Mycroft thought England could look after itself for a change of pace, however… one’s duty did not change despite one’s heart’s desires…

      “Your solicitousness is a balm to my soul, Gregory, as is your devotion to the Empire.”

Lestrade took a moment to absolutely adore Mycroft’s small, pleased smile and spun them once more around the room before releasing his hold and bowing deeply to his dance partner.

      “My thanks, Mr. Holmes, for the honor of our dance.  I hope we might again have opportunity to repeat the experience.”

      “The honor was mine, Mr. Lestrade, and I look forward most anticipatively to our next music-filled evening.”

Giggling in a very juvenile fashion at their silliness, both men allowed themselves one more moment to simply take in the splendor of the great joy they’d found and slowly moved out of the library and to the door, where, as if by magic, Lestrade’s hat, coat and scarf were waiting on the side table.

      “I am already mourning your departure, Gregory.  Are you… do you know when you are again free?”

The eagerness in Mycroft’s voice warmed Lestrade’s heart very nicely and almost made him consider cancelling a few obligations so that he could spend these coming evenings in Mycroft’s company.  But, as that would be sluggardly, and his Mycroft would scarcely approve of that, he squashed the urge and frowned in deepest regret.

      “A few days, I’m afraid.  I’ve got a talk to give tomorrow and a dinner the following night.  Then, ugh… it’s a party or some such that I’m supposed to attend.  Stroll about and be interesting, which is something I do very well, so that should be an easy evening, at the very least.  That should leave me free, though, for a nice evening and there’s no one I’d rather spend it with than you.  It’ll be a good time, too, for you to tell me all about your mother and what to expect.  That’s almost on us and I want to make a good showing.  Are you…”

Lestrade’s hand gestures did little but escalate Mycroft’s confusion, which the explorer had to concede was a look Mycroft wore well.  But, since he wore all looks well, that was a bit daft to think that in the first place.

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “Are you going to tell your mother about us?”

      “NO!  I mean… no.”

      “Oh.  Is it… are you…”

This round of gestures was equally baffling, but the rather disappointed look on Lestrade’s face provided enough clues as to the direction of the explorer’s thoughts, prompting Mycroft to take his companion’s hands in his own and hold them firmly.

      “I am not ashamed of us, Gregory.  Further, I am not ashamed of _you_ , nor see you as unfit for proper introduction.  It is simply… you do not know Mummy.  She will be absolutely appalling if she learns of our courtship.  We shall have nary a moment’s peace.  There will be endless questions. Insinuations, demands for details… she shall be immeasurably ghastly and I have not the stamina to suffer her for the eternity we shall be subject to her meddling and prurient curiosity.”

Lestrade breaking into laughter was the last thing Mycroft expected, but he happily enjoyed the sight, nonetheless.

      “You mean like any mum when their son, their eldest son, announces he’s begun a courtship?  There’s nothing unusual about that, not in the slightest, but if your humors will be sent out of balance by it all, then I suppose we can keep it to ourselves for now. However, if your mother is at all as clever as you and Sherlock, I suspect she’ll fathom it out on her own.”

      “I shall behave with the iciest of disinterest and foil her deductions.”

Mycroft’s steely, determined visage didn’t fool Lestrade for a second, and he demonstrated that by reaching up and running his hand, open palm, along Mycroft’s jaw, grinning at both the feel of the bristles and the rapidity with which Mycroft reached up to cover the hand with one of his own, keeping both against his cheek while he brought his romantically-excited breathing under control.

      “Oh, Gregory… such a passionate man you are.”

      “Only for you, Mycroft.  And you do stoke my passions to a very enjoyable degree.  In fact, if I don’t leave now, I might embarrass myself with all sorts of sordid behaviors.”

Something that almost embarrassed Mycroft as his shuddered breath fluttered his lungs.  The imaginings of his mind were nothing short of _indecent_ …

      “I am certain your gentlemanly manner would win out no matter the depth of the desired depravity.”

Lestrade’s smile said he very well knew that statement was utterly ridiculous and Mycroft’s returned smile said that, one day, there was certainly a possibility such could be explored in more depth.  At a pace that was prudent, of course.

      “That it would.  Goodnight, Mycroft.  I had an unimaginably lovely time tonight and you were entirely the reason.”

      “And goodnight to you, too, Gregory.  I share your assessment of our time together and it shall buoy my spirits no matter the drudgery tomorrow shall deliver to my doorstep.”

      “JUST LEAVE!  Do you two have to stand there blathering like a pair of lovesick fools when there are people in this house who are dissolving from the treacle of your declarations like salt in boiling water?”

Lestrade used his thumb to gently caress Mycroft’s skin for a moment, then regained possession of his hand and used it to make a gesture towards Sherlock that Mycroft had to admit was rather impressive in its vulgarity.

      “And, hello to you, Sherlock.  I’ll be certain to tell John you dissolve when you’re near romance.  That should ensure you don’t have to worry about stumbling over it unexpectedly.  At any time.  Ever.”

Sherlock’s snort shook the foundation of the house and signaled the final curtain of their evening, leaving Lestrade to take up his things and, after a last smile to the focus of his own romance, make his exit, though Mycroft stood staring at the closed door a moment before turning to face his brother.

      “You are an infant.”

      “An infant who had to wait in the kitchen for a geological age while you cooed and postured much as a pair of doves.  If my experiment was not at a critical juncture, I would have let the insipidness take my life and expired next to the oven for Cook to prepare me as your morning meal.”

      “As unpalatable a repast as I could possibly imagine.  Did you, at least, take note of the depth of Gregory’s and my devotion to use as a model while you scratch and scramble to find your own footing before you give John cause to flee to Africa to live life as a monk or something equally bereft of romance?”

      “I would be equally likely to swallow vitriol.”

      “Well, either should be amusing to observe.  Now, I shall bid you good evening and wish you well with your experiment.  Do consider, however, Mrs. Hudson’s warning about another incident with the rug in the corridor.  I will not intercede if she chooses to follow through with her threat.”

      “You will!”

      “I will not.  Her services to me far outstrip yours.”

      “I am your brother!”

      “And you will be my bald, eyebrow-less brother if she is forced to attempt a cleaning of something that defies either identification or any cleaning products known to man.”

Sherlock’s face contorted into tantrum-worthy mask of annoyance, but he had the wherewithal to wave the last bit of the previous night’s roast lamb, happily nestled between two thick slices of buttered bread, in his brother’s direction before bolting up the stairs.  Now replanning his late-night nibble, Mycroft made his own way towards the kitchen to see what the cook had hidden away to keep his energies in top form.  His unchecked libido was certainly vitality draining and more than a few slivers of lamb and the day’s bread was going to suffice.  A prandial _celebration_ was the minimum required to restore himself after… after paradise.

There was no other word for it.  Gregory… touched him.  Held him.  All with the most exquisite tenderness.  The warmest longing burned in his Gregory’s eyes and those eyes were focused only on him.  The most scintillating man ever birthed regarded him with as worth… a caress.  Not a simple holding of hands, but the soft caress of his face by Gregory’s thick and powerful fingers.  That his heart had not ceased to beat from the ecstasy, was nothing short of a miracle.  An embrace, a caress, a night of dance such as he never before had experienced… dreary old Mycroft Holmes was in the grasp of a romance that would be the talk of London were it a play performed on stage.  Who would have predicted that?  No one.  Certainly not him.

However, that which defied prediction was especially appealing and such was simply jam on his already buttered bread…


	19. Chapter 19

      “You’re insane.”

      “You have no proof of that.”

      “You, a lowly explorer, are trying to convince me, a lowly doctor, to purchase a king’s ransom in clothes so that you can impress Mycroft’s mother!”

      “We can impress.  _We_ , you stupid, leech layer.”

      “Why in heaven’s name would _I_ want to impress her?”

      “Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you’ve started courting her son.”

      “There is _no_ courting!”

      “Oh, so Sherlock made certain to grab your hand and notify me, with lots of words only he really understands, that you were now, what was it… romantically conjoined… for a lark?”

John waved his hands in the air and Greg happily waved in return to waft the denial back towards the smaller and angrier man.

      “Courting is official… there’s nothing official about… anything concerning Sherlock and me.”

      “I beg to differ.  You are letting him hold your hand, not to kiss it in greeting like you would for a woman, but to relish the feel of your manly flesh under his fingers.  That makes things _very_ official.”

      “Wrong.”

      “And, given the officialness of the situation, you have to make certain his mum approves of you so she won’t wear widow’s weeds every time she visits your lovely future home.”

Another round of waving began and John wondered just how much of a ‘donation’ he’d have to make to the police to have them ignore the flagrant murder of one of London’s most annoying inhabitants.

      “I am not purchasing any new clothes just so I appear a dandy and make Mrs. Holmes happy.”

      “I’m not sure if she’d appreciate her youngest being courted by a dandy.  A solid, respectable man is what Sherlock needs to keep him in line, so we’ll find something somber and authoritative for you to wear.”

      “No.”

      “Fine.  Then it will just be me, Mycroft and Sherlock who are allowed to walk through the front entrance and you’ll be escorted back to where they let in the butcher and lad who delivers the milk.”

      “I’m happy with that.  The kitchen is always the warmest room anyway and there’s food aplenty.  The servants offer the best conversation, too, so I expect to have a lovely time while you’re stiffly walking about cold rooms hoping not to drop a spot of sherry on your shirt because you don’t have money to clean it, what with being one step away from debtor’s prison.”

      “I’m _many_ steps from that, thank you very much.  And I’ve not embarrassed Mycroft once from looking like a costermonger that decided to follow him about London.  I’m not worried about me…”

      “And you don’t need to be worried about me, either.  I haven’t once been escorted out of any establishment because they mistook me for a beggar.”

      “The establishments you frequent cater primarily _to_ beggars.”

      “Funny.  I’ll remember you said that the next time we’re enjoying something hearty and I want a laugh.  Watching you being picked up and tossed into the street would be just the thing for it.’

Lestrade tut-tutted and made a grand show of turning to ignore John while looking through his belongings for any last-moment purchases he needed to make the upcoming visit a success.  The very last thing he wanted to do was make a poor showing to Mycroft’s mother.  Yes, he was highly practiced at milling amongst the wealthy and, yes, he was highly practiced at charming ladies of a certain age, but… this was Mycroft’s mum!  You _had_ to impress mums!  Mycroft was very much his own man, but when mother’s disapproved of matters, they certainly didn’t keep that information to themselves and he was not going to be responsible for Mycroft suffering motherly wrath because his shoes were scuffed or his buttons didn’t gleam.

      “Now, if I can trust you not to suffer some form of hysterical incident, which since you are Greg Lestrade, world-famous hysteric, is highly unlikely, but I’m willing to take the risk, I’m meeting Sherlock at his home to do a spot of work on those new samples we were able to gain access to.  At least I can be certain he’s not dithering like a bridegroom on his wedding day.  Mycroft, either, for that matter.  You’re the only ridiculous ditherer I know and that’s something you should consider before you go any further down the path with Mr. Holmes.  He’s going to get very exasperated having to give your head a knock every day because your nervous shaking is rattling the silverware on the breakfast table.”

Lestrade’s rude gesture was first pointed at John, then at the door of his rooms to give his message a broader meaning.

      “Sad.  You are a sad man, Greg.  Speaking of sad, don’t you have a dinner to attend tonight with, what was it, a ship owner or something?”

      “Several, in fact.  They own the ships, but I doubt a single one of them has actually set foot on deck, let alone traveled along for one of their trade expeditions.  But, they consider themselves men of the sea, despite it all, and like to hear tales of the sorts of adventure they imagine themselves worthy of if only they had time, poor, too-busy-counting-their-money gents that they are.  However, since they seem agreeable to parting with some of that money or making space available on one of their ships at a very reasonable cost to the RGS, I will smile and spin the most exciting tales I can.”

      “Smart.  Now, returning to the subject of mothers, I wonder if, in between dancing for your coins, you’ll have to fend off any determined women with daughters they’re hoping to see married, even if it’s to you.”

Lestrade’s pained expression was some revenge for their conversation and John happily banked the vengeance in his internal accounts.

      “Ugh… why did you even say that.  You’ve likely cursed me and I’ll have at least two invitations to pay calls where I’ll have to pretend to show interest as I’m informed of every attribute and talent some poor girl has while she sits there and tries to give me come-hither looks without _appearing_ as if she’s doing it because that’s what her mother said she should do to prospective suitors who have a few years on them and already have a good idea of what a wife is for and might appreciate a prim and proper young lady who is, also, fully prepared to perform any and all wifely duties, no matter how ‘sophisticated’ they might be.”

      “That’s worked out well for you a few times, though.”

      “Not that the mothers ever found out.  Or the fathers.  Besides, none of that for me anymore!  Any come-hither looks in my life that I actually want are going to be given by a prim and proper _gentleman_ , who has the perfect eyes for such a thing and I wager he can make a very sultry pout with those luscious lips of his to round out the seduction quite nicely.”

      “Sherlock’s right… you’re a besotted simpleton.”

      “I made the clearest, most concise of hand gestures a moment ago and yet you’re still here.  Which one of us is the simpleton, again?”

      “Don’t purchase any additional cravats while I’m not here to oversee your hysteria, alright?  You have quite enough and you really don’t need one in every color and pattern the city has to offer.”

      “Mycroft likes me colorful.”

      “Besotted.  Simpleton.”

      “No, giving him something nice to look at when I see him.”

      “Since the alternative is your face, I can understand that.  And remember that we’re only going to be away for a day or two.  I saw the trunk you dragged into your bedroom.  We’re not leaving for Africa, you know.”

      “We’ve got at least one nice dinner and, I have little doubt, some additional guest-receiving that we’ll be part of because I am, if I might be so bold, something of a man to show around to one’s friends.”

John marveled at the supreme confidence his friend had for everything except one tiny area where he was, as previously noted, a dithering hysteric who could scarcely run a razor across his chin without slashing his throat if the shaving was in preparation for a meeting with the _reason_ for his hysterical dithering.

      “You enjoy putting everything you own into your trunk and I’ll enjoy getting some work accomplished in the meantime.  I’ll convey your greetings to Mycroft and tell him to expect you to be a few stone lighter by the time he sees you again since you’re quaking like a reed in the wind.”

Lestrade’s rude noise was the perfect accompaniment to his previous rude gesture and John finally decided to leave the explorer in peace.  The man was loony!  Admittedly, he’d seen this many times before when some young fool lost his heart to a pretty girl, but… there was no girl here and Greg was in no manner well-described as young.  This sort of thing didn’t happen to mature, peering-into-the-twilight-of-their-lives men.  Did it?  Weren’t they beyond such nonsense?  Especially when it wasn’t a woman they were wooing, but another mature man who certainly didn’t seem the type to tolerate any nonsense in his life.  If there was a man more composed and lacking in nonsense than Mycroft Holmes, John hoped he never met the poor, dour bastard…

__________

      “You are insane.”

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  Your traditional manner of greeting always gladdens my heart.”

Sherlock looked around Mycroft’s bedroom and wondered if his brother’s wardrobe had exploded or if a typhoon had swept through, scattering Mycroft’s clothing over every surface the room possessed.

      “Are you inspecting for insect damage?  Mrs. Hudson pesters you incessantly about taking on a valet and he would be better suited for performing that task than you, who must view everything at arm’s length due to your ever-expanding girth.”

      “Again my heart quickens with delight.  Now, if you will make yourself absent from my bedchamber, I shall continue with my ruminations.”

      “Why is there a trunk near the bed?”

      “I have no idea.  I suspect witches, but have no verifiable proof of the fact.”

      “You have never overseen the preparation of your own luggage in the entirety of your life.”

      “Untrue.  When I was forced to accompany… a certain personage… to Scotland, I most certainly saw to my own garments and sundries.”

      “Incorrect.  Instead, you instructed Mrs. Hudson to make ready your lowest-quality garments due to your reluctance to, I believe you said, leave your higher-quality fabrics at the disposal of the dung-throwing dullwits that litter the landscape like sheep.”

      “I have no memory of that.”

      “Perhaps a morsel of fat has impeded that particular pathway of thought.  Give your head a shake and see if the adipose might be dislodged.”

Mycroft waved off his brother’s infantilism and continued to survey his options.  This was an occasion of supreme importance and not a thing must be amiss.  Gregory… he was to be under the same roof as Gregory for what could be, dare he think it, two nights, along with the mornings and afternoons such entailed.  There would be shared meals, social obligations, the stolen moments where they might simply bask in the glow of the devotion they shared… he could not appear as a vagabond!  Gregory believed him… comely, and though it was not a view he shared of himself, it was one he was duty-bound to uphold.

      “I am simply ensuring our visit is a harmonious one.  Mummy will be most cross if we attend her dinner appearing as if she plucked us from a farmer’s field like cabbages.”

      “You are already cabbage-shaped, so the battle is surely lost on that front.  And you turn a truly dyspeptic green when Mummy presents you to women or vicars, so that botanical feature is, also, satisfied.”

      “Was there a point to this invasion of my privacy, Sherlock, or are you simply hoping that I shall throw at you a handful of guineas to purchase your silence?”

      “John will be arriving soon.  You will not speak to him.”

Ah…

      “I believe I shall and with a list of interrogatories that stretches to the Thames.  He is your suitor and I, as the oldest, am charged with determining his fitness for you.  As you have been keeping him away from the house, likely to avoid such a situation, this shall be my first opportunity to don my Inquisitor’s cap and I do intend to use it to its fullest.”

      “No.”

      “I counter with yes.”

      “You will not speak to John or… I shall seed your undergarments with substances of the strongest pruritic properties.  Lestrade will not speak fondly of your dancing ability once he is forced to view the unholy gyrations that will produce.”

      “Hmmm… I _had_ considered purchasing new undergarments for our journey, so your threat is somewhat an empty one.  It would not do to be caught, shall we say, unprepared for certain eventualities.”

      “WHAT?  Have you… are you intending… Lestrade… at Mummy’s?”

A sputtering, near-lethally shocked Sherlock was a joy to behold and Mycroft savored the sight with all due satisfaction.

      “I have no idea where your mind has taken you, Sherlock, but if you require a tincture of some form, do ask Mrs. Hudson to alert the chemist at her earliest convenience.”

      “Mummy will not tolerate libidinousness, even if she is desperate to remove you from the ledger of monks and other celibates.”

Actually, Mummy would pounce upon the circumstances providing what she felt was helpful advice and, if sketches were deemed necessary, have produced paper and pencil to begin work immediately.

      “Sherlock, your mind has obviously become overheated with a scandalous interpretation of my statement, so I shall make this most plain in order that your mental faculties do not curdle like soured milk.  I simply desired something new as my old specimens would certainly agitate the valet that I _will_ have to suffer while in residence at Mummy’s home.  Whatever you chose to believe was my meaning is entirely a mark of your own character and conscience.”

And that the lie was specifically concocted to lead you thus astray shall remain a happy secret.  Although, now that the subject was raised, there was the possibility… what if a burglar entered his room while he was dressing and his affronted shouts brought Gregory racing to protect his person?  He could not have the man see him in linens that were becoming threadbare!  It would be an insult to his eyesight!

And… what if Gregory was _also_ dressing at the time?  He might run in, clad only in a silken dressing gown… flaring open to the tie so his broad and manly chest was on display as he raised his muscular arms to thrash the intruder…

      “Why are you breathing strangely?”

Oh… yes, must remember to curb one’s imagination when one is not alone…

      “For Plato’s sake, Sherlock… begone and take your tawdry envisionings with you.”

Sherlock made a show of brushing Mycroft-tainted air off of his shirt then marched out to prepare his lab for the morning’s round of experiment, leaving Mycroft to calm his breathing and rid his mind of his own tawdry envisionings.  Gregory was correct… Mummy was going to catch the scent the moment he walked across the threshold!  The aroma of his internal perturbations would perfume the entrance more grandly than all the flowers in her garden.

How was he, a man of supreme control and will, entirely undone by the thought of the slightest glimpse of Gregory’s flesh?  Or from the touch of his fingers.  Oh, Gregory’s touch… how fully he could still feel the sensation of his Gregory’s hands upon his face and his body… oh dear.  He truly needed to have a firm word with his respiratory system for it was becoming quite eager to undermine his aforementioned control and will.  As was his heart.  Accursed thing, beating like the pistons of a steam locomotive whenever he thought of the dashing explorer.  If Gregory was ever to visit before an appointment with his physician, the man would quickly leap to Sherlock’s side of the imminent-demise argument.

But how could he _not_ tremble and quaver and suffer the fluttering of breath?  These few days they had been apart had not found Gregory idle in their courtship.  Each morning and afternoon he had sent a message of the profoundest ardor.  Words of longing and regret that they were not being spoken in person.  They both had to decline invitations to meet and, the harsh truth be told, that would certainly color their association no matter the closeness the attained and the… equilibrium… they achieved, but his dearest explorer was determined to overcome that truth and in the most expressive of ways.

      “Oh no, Sherlock wasn’t lying, which I didn’t think would occur in _my_ lifetime.”

Speak of expressiveness and the devil herself is summoned.

      “It does happen on the rare occasion.  Please go and celebrate the event, Mrs. Hudson, with something enjoyable from the cupboard or my spirits stocks.”

      “You can’t get rid of me that easily, Mr. Holmes.  I’m the one who is going to have to pack away all of this, you know, when you decide you hate all of it and send a panicked note to your tailor to have an entire new wardrobe delivered by dawn.”

      “Ridiculous.  In no manner could that be accomplished in such a timeframe.”

      “That doesn’t mean you won’t _send_ your panicked note.  Then glower and grumble when the poor man sends his reply, which will be almost impossible to read since he’ll be shaking in fear as he writes it.”

      “Balderdash.”

Just because he _may_ have been contemplating broaching with the man the subject of a few new coats, shirts, trousers and the like did not mean he was giving the idea _serious_ thought.  At least… not now.

      “Why don’t you take yourself to the kitchen and let me get your things readied for tomorrow’s train.  Cook just took some lovely buns out of the oven and they’ve got lots of fruit and nuts in them, just as you like.”

      “I am not a child to be distracted by a bun, Mrs. Hudson.”

      “They might have a nice sugary glaze, too, so they’re even more delicious.”

      “If you need me, I shall be in the kitchen.”

      “That’s a good boy.”

As she watched the great and powerful Mycroft Holmes dash at his fastest speed towards the kitchen to sample the buns she specifically asked the cook to prepare to calm her poor employer’s nerves, Mrs. Hudson surveyed the disaster and heaved a deep sigh.  Why did love have to be so… messy!  Oh well, it was worth the extra fuss to see her Mycroft so… happy.  And, knowing Mrs. Holmes as she did, he’d have _several_ days to be happy with that explorer of his.  The weather was just lovely for strolls in the garden, carriage rides through the countryside… a little holiday away from the bustle of the city was exactly what they needed.

Besides, _she’d_ need the time to recover from the romance that was turning the house upside down.  Doctor Watson was due at any time now and that would set Sherlock into his own form of tizzy.  Fortunately, it was easy to get him ready for a visit to his mother.  Throw a few things into a sack, which he’d promptly throw to their household staff and that was that.  Of course, now that Doctor Watson was part of the party, he could change pattern and fall into lunacy as deeply as his brother.  _Two_ brothers to carefully plan and pack for…  well, there was her day filled.  Hopefully, the house could manage one single day without her… and she did have open invitation to sample Mr. Holmes’s fine spirits when this single day was done…

__________

After agreeing, with a vow most solemn, that their counterparts were irredeemably insane, John and Sherlock dove into their work and John was most amenable to staying within the confines of Sherlock’s lab so as not to fall under the scrutiny of the oldest Holmes brother, who found himself foregoing the further vetting of the good doctor, in any case, because he was alternately ensuring the Empire was in some semblance of order so that he could be away for the highly-anticipated multiple days and arguing with Mrs. Hudson about the garments she was choosing for his trip.  The fact that he was still arguing as she was pushing him out the door towards the cab, which was already loaded with his and Sherlock’s luggage was proof, to Sherlock, that his brother’s continued intellectual use to anyone was forever at an end.

      “You look ridiculous.”

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  So do you.”

      “I shall burn these garments the first moment I am presented with an open flame.”

      “Mummy purchased for us these… traveling clothes… and Mrs. Hudson is likely correct that arriving with them on our backs shall make her most happy.  Happy Mummy is less difficult to manage than peevish Mummy or disappointed Mummy, so it is a strategic gambit.”

      “You appear as if you are prepared to shoot a rabbit from our railway carriage.”

      “And you appear as if you are prepared to skin it, so we are well matched.  Mummy imagined, I suspect, a more comfortable, yet rugged manner for our presentation.  That she succeeded only in garmenting us as a gamekeeper and his boy shall remain our little secret.”

      “If John laughs at my shame, I will trounce him.”

      “With what?  Your arms can scarcely push aside the air that obstructs your path, let alone provide a proper trouncing.  One, which, most certainly, the good doctor is highly skilled at both avoiding and returning with notable vigor.”

      “I shall inform him of my intentions, and remind him that I have a respectable knowledge of boxing. That should be sufficient to cow him into apology.”

      “Yes, your expectations are undoubtedly right on the mark, as always.”

      “I have no idea why you are making light of this.  You appear far more ludicrous than I, in your mainsail’s worth of tweed, and will certainly inspire peals of laughter from your infantile explorer.  If he does not choke on his own hilarity, I shall be most surprised.”

Gregory certainly would not laugh.  He was a man of maturity and… oh bother.

      “Sherlock, this visitation will be sufficiently onerous that the added tumult from your overheated imagination shall only serve to sour the experience to a truly unhealthy level.  Can we simply agree to some form of alliance to see this through with as little agitation as possible?  Common cause, brother dear…”

      “It is my intention to closet myself away from everything and erect barricades that Mummy’s legions of staff will not be able to dismantle before we are scheduled to depart.  If John makes sincere apology for his inevitable juvenility, I shall allow him to dive behind the battlements before the final brick is set in place so that he might survive the cataclysm with some measure of wits about him.”

Unfortunately, that was a _highly_ successful strategy and one that Sherlock had enacted on many a motherly visit.  That Mummy was content if he but peeked his nose from behind his siege walls at mealtime, meant _he_ had to bear the brunt of the various guests and their entertainment.  The burdens of being eldest were legion, indeed…

      “As long as you remain so ensconced, we have an accord.”

Sherlock’s ‘I care not’ wave and hearty snort meant the traditional pre-journey conversation was at an end and Mycroft could now use the remainder of the cab ride to steel himself for the arrival at the train station.  Where there would be Gregory, looking masterful and majestic, as only a man well-acclimated to the inconvenience of travel could appear.  While _he_ appeared… Mummy and Mrs. Hudson would pay dearly for this.  Hopefully, Gregory could contain his sniggers until they were, at least, in their private car on the train…

__________

      “Oh my…”

      “Gregory… very well.  Do laugh and vocalize all pertinent witticisms now, so we might continue on with our day.”

Lestrade smiled widely at his highly annoyed Holmes and walked once around him, just to be horrid.

      “I honestly didn’t believe you had anything approaching a country gent’s wardrobe, Mr. Holmes, but I’m happy to see I was wrong.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and surveyed the details of Lestrade’s expression and body language and began, finally, to relax.  There was no scorn, there was no ridicule… and damn him for believing their might be…

      “Mummy purchased and had delivered for Sherlock and I what she felt were clothes appropriate for train travel.  I am not certain from where the idea sprung, but…”

      “But you don’t disappoint a mum if you’re at all a good son, which you most certainly are.  Any more like that I can expect to see?”

      “Some…”

      “Good.  I’m hoping to get out and enjoy the country air a bit and that’s not as comfortable in standard city clothes.”

The twinkle in Lestrade’s eye settled a warmth in Mycroft’s bones for there was no doubt that boded well for gaining them time together away from prying eyes.

      “If you like, I would be happy to escort you around the property and nearby environs.  It is rather a lovely area and I suspect offers items of interest for someone who enjoys such things.”

      “I would very much like that, indeed.  And, might we do a bit of that exploring at night, as well?  The stars aren’t so clear and beautiful in London as away from it and I’m rather skilled at identifying all of those constellations and the like.”

An evening stroll, under a blanket of stars, with Gregory at his side?  Was there any possibility of objection?

      “I do believe that will be possible, though I cannot guarantee we shall not be occupied with Mummy’s guests for some time into the late hours of the evening…”

It was certainly past time to board the train since he was not capable, it seemed, of conducting a scintillating, twinkle-laden conversation while wearing tweed in public view.  That Gregory was garbed exactly as he had seen him the first night they met was also making public view a difficult thing as his body was responding most inappropriately to the highly agreeable sight.

      “… however, we shall, of course, do our best to make extensive use of whatever amenities are on offer during our short holiday.  Shall we board?  I believe our departure time is nearly at hand.”

Lestrade grinned at Mycroft’s noticeable discomfort and made an ‘after you’ gesture that his companion was more than happy to act upon.  Sherlock and John were already somewhere on the train and his Mycroft would be much more content sitting in a private carriage, with a beverage to sip than standing here surrounded by other travelers who had a tendency to rush and jostle and sport other annoyances, such as exuberant offspring, to darken his Mycroft’s mood.  They had quite a ride ahead of them and making it as pleasant a one as possible was his goal.  For some reason, Mycroft was worrying about the upcoming visit and that was more than enough unpleasantness for Mr. Holmes to face today as it was…

__________

      “Ugh… Mycroft failed, yet again, to secure for us two carriages.”

John looked around the large, comfortable car and decided that Sherlock was, again, lucky his brother wasn’t given to acts of violence against peevish toddlers.

      “Why in the world would your brother pay for two expensive carriages when there are only two of you traveling?”

      “Because proximity to Mycroft is soul-deadening and he, as eldest, should have _some_ concern for my overall state of being, whether corporeal or incorporeal.”

      “Are you going to try to be cordial today or is it foolish of me to carry even a sliver of a hope?”

      “A sliver might be a tad too large for the situation.”

      “Oh god…”

      “You have not traveled with Mycroft!  He is a boring conversationalist, uptakes fully 80% of the available air to support his enormous tissue mass and harrumphs every time the train experiences even the slightest bump.  It is maddening!”

If Sherlock managed a single day on an expedition, John would be astounded.

      “You’re an evil brother, Sherlock Holmes.”

      “And you will be gasping for air like a fish at market within ten minutes of our departure, mark my words.”

      “Yes, Doctor Watson, do mark Sherlock’s words and then forget them as promptly as you are able.  That being said, why are you occupying my and Gregory’s carriage, brother dear?  Yours is the next one along, I believe.”

Sherlock didn’t even inquire about his good fortune, settling, instead, for bolting from his seat and motioning John to follow, which the doctor did after a small bow to the carriage’s new occupants.

      “I thought it best, for everyone’s sanity, to have two carriages set aside for our traveling party.  Sherlock is absolutely incorrigible when it comes to close-quarters travel.  Normally, I would prefer to keep an eye on his activities, but I feel confident Doctor Watson will see he is not hurled from the train at the request of the conductor.”

Mycroft’s tiny smile at Lestrade’s laughter preceded his taking a seat and sighing in relief at finally being in a quieter setting and able to enjoy that setting with delightful company, as opposed to the usual lanky stick of foul temper that was Sherlock.

      “Well, this is nice!  Much nicer than what I’m used to, in fact.  We don’t travel in what might call comfort very often, since that would shrink our purse rather disastrously, so this is a treat and I plan to enjoy it.”

Sneaking a hand into his jacket, Lestrade extracted a shiny flask that he waved merrily for Mycroft’s amusement.

      “Well done, Gregory!  And I might offer in exchange…”

Mycroft reached into the small bag he had carried with him and extracted two paper-wrapped bundles that Lestrade just knew contained something delicious.

      “… a small nibble we might share.  There may also be sweets in my bag of surprises, so do be warned.”

      “Brilliant!  Already we’re off to a rollicking start.  This is going to be grand, Mycroft.  And, now that we’re away from all sorts of ears… you look fantastic today.  Truly, just magnificent.”

Mycroft wondered if he would ever tire of hearing Lestrade’s flattering words and decided that it was unlikely in the extreme.

      “Really, Gregory… I fear for the state of your eyesight, but I thank you for your kindness.”

      “Look at you smiling and trying not to show it.  You are unbelievably handsome any day, but today it’s something new and I _do_ like it.  Makes you seem… like you’ve shed your London skin a bit, along with its worries, and are ready to focus on other things.”

      “Hmmm… an interesting perspective.  And I _have_ done my utmost to ensure my attention shall not be required for matters other than our visit, so there is some hope such a thing might occur.  Of course, depending on the dreadfulness of the people and events to be thrust upon us, a message from London might be viewed as a welcome rescue.”

      “Ha!  It’s going to be fine, Mycroft.  I promise you that I’ll do everything I can to keep the attention on me so you can simply relax.  I’m rather good at that, so I suspect my plan will work wonderfully.”

With a quick nip to toast his genius, Lestrade passed his flask over to Mycroft who shook his head and smiled before taking a drink.

      “Oh, there is an inscription… To Greg, you… oh dear me…”

      “Not terribly polite is it?  I’m surprised anyone could be found to engrave something that rude on this fine thing, but it’s one of my favorite possessions.  I don’t take it to Africa with me because I’m scared I’ll lose it or it’ll be stolen along the way, but I do adore having it when I’m back in London.”

      “AA… a relation?”

      “Friend.  Very old friend.”

Mycroft saw the slight dimming of Lestrade’s eyes and fought back the urge to reach out and take his hand.

      “Gregory?”

      “Hmmm?  Oh, just reminiscing.  It’s hard, with the work I do, to keep many friends.  You see them rarely and they go on with their lives while you’re away.  I’ve got lots of acquaintances, but not many true friends.  Now, though… well, I’ve got a few more, don’t I?  And one of them certainly holds a special place in that rarefied group.”

Taking back his flask, Lestrade raised another toast, this one to the man who was a friend, but oh so much more, and who looked absolutely adorable when he was feeling bashful from being complimented.

      “Is this what I am to suffer, Gregory Lestrade?  A train journey fraught with adulatory declarations?  I am not certain my temper shall withstand the barrage.”

      “Then I’ll prepare for a good shout or two, because I’m going to adulate you until you’re positively seething.”

Risking a little contact, Lestrade reached out with his foot and ran it up and down Mycroft’s ankle, drinking the sputtered excitement with as much joy as his respectable whisky.

      “Gregory!  You… rascally fellow.”

      “Have to have my fun now, don’t I, before we’re at your mum’s.  I _will_ be on my best behavior, at least for this, if you’re worried.  I promise not to ignite any fires of curiosity or inspire her to offer bits of marvelously-filthy advice or any of the things you think might happen.”

      “You scoff now, but when she has you backed into a corner and is demanding the full details of our intimate association, I believe your song shall change its tune.”

      “Oh, if she wants details, details she shall have.  Lots of them.  Very fine details so she’ll know her son is being properly tended to and kept happy, which is what a mother wants, isn’t it?”

Lestrade locked eyes with Mycroft and slowly ran his tongue across his upper lip, wondering if the color that Mycroft’s face turned had an official name or would ‘shocking red’ have to suffice.

      “Gr… Gregory!”

      “That _is_ my name, well done you.”

      “You… how have you not been incarcerated for lewd conduct?”

      “Because I save it for those worthy of it and you are the most worthy person I’ve ever known.”

Mycroft took a moment to feel his heart and will it to slow because beginning their trip with his death would displease Mummy greatly.  She despised black and having to wear it for a mourning period would likely have her chiseling his name off his headstone and inviting sheep to defecate upon his grave.

      “I do think about it, in case you were wondering… me and you doing the things people do when the only thing covering their skin is candlelight.  Oh no…”

Lestrade jumped across and felt Mycroft’s forehead because his companion had gone pale and perspiration had begun to dot his brow.

      “Sorry, Mycroft… too much?”

With Lestrade fanning additional air in his direction, Mycroft began to calm his libido, which had taken a turn for the explosive as the image of an unclothed assignation, lit only by candles, leapt into his mind with devastating force.

      “Yeah, I think I’ll keep to topics one of those missionary chaps would approve of for awhile.  Alright?  Better now?”

After another stiff drink of Lestrade’s whisky, Mycroft felt _some_ degree better and the chocolates Lestrade plucked out of Mycroft’s bag soothed his nerves even further.  Good heavens… the mere thought… having Gregory’s naked body in contact… oh dear…”

      “More chocolate!  Here… eat a few more… close your eyes and just relax…”

A few more chocolates, another drink of whisky and a nice bit of cheese that Lestrade also found hiding in Mycroft’s bag slowly brought his Holmes back under control and the explorer did his level best not to appear smug when Mycroft finally cleared his throat and nodded.

      “I believe an insect flew down my throat.”

      “Pesky things they are, those insects.  Luckily you had a few bits and bobs to help push the bastard down so it won’t bother you anymore.”

      “I do prefer to be prepared for any eventuality.”

Except those that involved his Gregory and… NO!  Think not such thoughts… along that path lay disaster…

      “And I admire you for it.  I’ll tell that to your Mum, too.  I admire you and think you’re a great man.  That’ll make her happy and not start any upsetting conversations.”

Mycroft cut his eyes towards Lestrade, completely unsurprised that the explorer was wearing a satisfied and teasing smile, something that enhanced his roguish loveliness most successfully.

      “That would be most helpful.  Mummy believes, I suspect, that the entirety of my usefulness to this world is to see her home in good repair and keep the trains running on schedule.”

The lurch that signaled their trip was underway made Lestrade laugh and he patted Mycroft’s knee before hopping back across to the other side of the carriage.

      “And you do!  Right on schedule, actually.  I’ll point that out when I’m listing the things you do that I think are amazing.  You deserve all the praise and accolades I can declare and I’m going to make certain your mum hears every single one so she knows you’re a very important man who fascinates me constantly.  Fascinates isn’t too scandalous, is it?”

Smile not your impish smile at me, Gregory Lestrade.  My heart has endured more than enough perturbation this day and will certainly have stern words with me if I continue to fall under your wicked spell.  Though what a glorious thing _is_ that particular spell, if the lethality is ignored…

      “I believe that is sufficiently banal to keep her suspicions in check.”

      “Good.  We’re going to have fun, love.  I promise you that I will make this trip a great deal of fun for you, even if all the evil people your mother invites try to make it otherwise.”

This time, Lestrade simply wiggled his foot a little and wiggled his eyebrows a bit more until Mycroft chuckled softly and reached out his own foot to give the explorer’s ankle a small rub.  For all of his power, it felt surprisingly liberating to have someone stand as his protector.  Though, if Gregory knew the true extent of what he would need to battle against, his tone might not be such a confident one.  However, given this _was_ Gregory… Mummy may have finally found the one person who could not be bested with her standard repertoire of Sherlock-worthy, chaos-causing skills.  Perhaps there was fun to be had, after all.  Regardless, Mummy did keep extremely fine brandy on hand and in rather copious quantity…


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of folks are looking forward to the dinner, but, really not overly much is going to happen then. Before and after, though... that's another story. This is the before...

      “No.”

      “I see no reason for your refusal.”

      “Sherlock, we are not, as you put it, escaping the drudgery of motherly visits and spending the time at some local inn!”

      “You still have offered no concrete reason for your objection, so I assume it is simply general contrariness and I shall pay it no heed.”

John gritted his teeth and set his expression in the most determined manner he could muster.

      “That’s your prerogative, but rest assured, I _will_ be going with Mycroft and Greg to your mother’s house and enjoying her hospitality, whether you join us or not.”

      “Intolerable!”

      “Very tolerable, actually.  With your mum, I know I’ll have good food, good drink, a good bed… there’s nothing wrong with any of that, not anything at all, and I intend to make the most of this little holiday.  Greg gets invited to nice homes and dinners fairly often, but I don’t and I think it’s going to be a fun change of pace.  Something new to experience.”

      “It is not new to me and my memories are fraught with horror and ennui.”

      “How do both of those make it into a single set of memories?”

      “Mummy is extremely talented in ruining one’s time with whatever mechanism presents itself at the moment.”

      “Well, this I _have_ to see!  This visit is sounding better and better.”

John picked up his small bag that contained the book he hadn’t cracked or the newspaper that was equally unread and smiled broadly.  Sherlock had talked the entire trip, often to what seemed like his ghostly ancestors or faerie creatures visible only to him, but it had been one of the better train rides he’d enjoyed in a very long time.  Sherlock was a unique individual, but he certainly wasn’t boring.

      “Woe be unto you, John Watson.”

      “As long as it’s served with a flavorful sauce, I’m sure it will be lovely.  Shall we?”

Sherlock’s imitation of a kettle about to boil provided the musical score for John’s jollying along out of the car where, unsurprisingly, he found a large, stately carriage sitting in wait to collect them.

      “Perfect!  We continue to ride in comfort… I told you this was going to be lovely and it is.”

      “Mummy is hoping to impress the village with her ridiculous fruit and vegetable cart.”

      “Can I be the apple?  I think I’d make a good apple.  Firm and tart, but not so much that your face puckers when you take a bite.  Good in a fight, too.”

      “How do apples have anything to do with combat!”

      “Ever been hit with a fast-flung apple?  They seem benign, but it’s a lie.  A tragic, bruising lie.”

Sherlock stewed in his petulance, while John smiled and accepted his luggage from the porter, then waved at the driver of the carriage as he walked forward to get his holiday started.

      “Good heavens, Sherlock.  Are your bowels in distress?”

      “That question, Mycroft, is incalculably more correctly asked of you, given the quantity of foodstuffs that you use to stuff them like a sausage.”

Mycroft tutted his brother’s nonsense and gave a small, secret smile to the man who swatted Sherlock on the back of the head before he began to gather their bags and nod towards the waiting carriage, where John already sat like a monarch on his throne.

      “I see John is eager to begin the final leg of our journey.”

      “John’s mind is addled.  He asked only moments ago to be turned into an apple because it was some form of gladiatorial fruit.”

      “Oh, apples are nasty buggers in a battle.  Catch one that’s been hurled full force right in the back… might as well have caught a punch.  Mycroft, shall we join John?  He _will_ leave without us if he feels the call of a good cup of tea too loudly.”

      “Then do let us give him company.  The drive is a moderate one and the earlier we depart the better.  Mummy is certainly lying in wait like a spider in her web and her anxiousness is not something to promote for it inspires her to greater and greater levels of meddling and inquisitiveness.”

Lestrade curtsied with the bags filling his arms and motioned Mycroft to lead the way, following behind like the faithful servant.  Whistling for Sherlock to follow like the faithful family dog was not actually necessary, but very satisfying, nonetheless.

      “I am not Toby!  I do not respond to your command!”

      “Then feel free to walk, lad.  How far is your mum’s house?”

Sherlock glared at Lestrade and the explorer got a very good idea of how Sherlock must have appeared when he was young.  A cute little face like that… no wonder Mycroft had a hard time giving him a boot in the arse.  Luckily, _he_ was very practiced with the application of boots and Sherlock’s bum was skinnier than most so the booting would be a very substantial one should it become necessary…

__________

After years of visiting very fine homes, Lestrade had learned that you couldn’t always know the temperament of the household by the appearance of the house, but you could _often_ do it and… this was good.  What he was now looking at was an extremely large house, but one with personality.  And the gardens!  None of the miles of boring hedges or row after row of roses, but a bounty of spring flowers that were peeking out to paint the grounds in vibrant, glorious color.  And, he had no doubt, as long as the growing season lasted, new flowers would replace the old to keep the beds beautiful for any eyes that might want to linger and give the soul a bit of a lift.

      “Gregory?  Is everything alright?”

      “What?  Oh… yes!  Very much, in fact.  Just admiring the house.  It’s a lovely place, Mycroft.  I’ve not seen many grand houses with flowers that splendid.”

      “Mummy prizes her blossoms, that is certainly the case.  They match well with her colorful personality.”

      “Don’t I remember something about floral fornication in your past, Mr. Holmes?  Might your head have been turned by a particularly well-hued petal?”

      “Gregory… you are nearly as incorrigible as Sherlock and leaping upon his train of thought will certainly lead only to perdition.”

      “Good company there.  All the blokes with a bit of fire in their bellies.”

      “ _Incorrigible_.”

Lestrade leaned over so his ‘and you very much like it’ went unheard by the driver, as did his smugly-pleased grin at the tiny uplift at the corners of Mycroft’s lips.

      “John!  They are behaving in a nauseating fashion and I demand you do something to restore my health!”

John stretched his legs out in front of him and tilted his hat down to cover his eyes, much to Sherlock’s huffed annoyance.

      “I am an island, surrounded on all sides by bleakness and the abandoning forces of shriveled regard.”

      “Didn’t those ancient poets wear sheets or something, Mycroft?  Maybe you should get your brother one of those to sport around the house, so he looks the part.”

      “Hmmm… such is not an unreasonable idea.  You are most skilled in analysis, Gregory.  It certainly does you credit.  Ah… it seems we have officially arrived.  This is the last chance you will be given to flee for your sanity, so reflect most soberly before you set foot upon the ground.”

Unsurprisingly, Lestrade leapt out of the carriage as if he was jumping across a stream and spun with arms outstretched on landing.

      “Was that sober enough?”

Sherlock’s pointing and glaring was ignored by Mycroft and John, who both descended from the carriage with far more maturity than the silver-haired toddler grinning at them like he’d found sweets in his pocket.

      “Gregory, you are simply primed to encourage Mummy’s most discommodious behaviors, are you not?”

      “I have no idea, because I don’t know what that means.  Come on, though.  That chap waiting at the door looks like he has better things to do than watch us dither about.”

Lestrade grinned even more brightly and took his place next to Mycroft to encourage his Holmes to start moving, which Mycroft finally did with his own Sherlock-worthy huff.

      “And you two, as well.  No scurrying off and leaving Mycroft and me to make your excuses.”

Which had very much been Sherlock’s plan, but John used his most militaristic ‘get moving’ gesture to set Sherlock in motion after the older pair, keeping watch the entire time for a sudden break for the hills.  Which, with Sherlock’s sneakiness could make him a misery to find by dinnertime…

__________

      “Mycroft!  Oh, how handsome you look in your traveling clothes!  And Sherlock… you’re still wearing yours, so I am graced with the happiest of surprises!  The butler owes me a shilling and he is always so aggrieved when he graces me with my winnings that it doubles the delight of my victory.  Now, do present your traveling companions for I am most anxious to meet them.”

Anxious?  Mycroft worried that if his mother was any more anxious, she would vibrate at a frequency high enough to summon a bevy of sparrows to peck at the windows.

      “Yes, of course.  Mummy, may I present Mr. Gregory Lestrade, noted explorer and lecturer, and Doctor John Watson, expedition physician and published researcher.”

And, of course, his Gregory would stride forward in the manliest of fashions to give his mother’s hand a kiss.

      “It is enchanting to meet you, Mrs. Holmes.  Mycroft has told me nothing but wonderful things about you, but the scoundrel certainly didn’t mention how lovely you are.  Really, to be welcomed by a vision of beauty is a marvelous thing.”

And smile your most lustrous smile to emphasize your extravagant prose.  You are a bounder, sir. An unrepentant, incomparably handsome, bounder.

      “Quell your jealousy or Mummy will surely notice your increasingly florid complexion and make your existence one to regret.  On further thought, continue to let your jealousy rage for that would be the best possible outcome of this abhorrent visitation.”

Fortunately, Sherlock had the mental agency to whisper his diatribe, so Mummy was not alerted to anything amiss.  In any case, his brother was off the mark.  One was not jealous of one’s mother.  One _was_ , however, hoping to have one’s mother kept as placid and serene as possible so as to avoid any…

      “Mr. Lestrade, you are a rogue.  And I absolutely adore rogues!  Come, we have much to talk about.  Doctor Watson!  You appear _somewhat_ roguish now that I see you in something other than stable boy’s garb… do come along and tell me about your journey and how near a thing it was that Sherlock was hurled from the train by the passengers, staff or a strategic alliance of both camps.”

… excitement of her attentions so she is encouraged to wrest from her guests every detail of their lives and divulge every detail of the lives of her sons, in repayment.  Already the agony was well and truly throbbing in his veins.

      “Why did you not stop this!”

      “Sherlock… what would you have me do?  Bring Mummy to the ground like a captured pickpocket and sit upon her until the constables arrive?”

      “No, for your weight would crush her and it would be exceedingly difficult to stage her death to appear an accident, given the lack of elephants, besides you, in the general area.  This visit will be burdensome enough without having to edify the local magistrate, who, if he saw a day of school beyond age seven would be most surprising, as to how a human body might undergo spontaneous implosion to explain away your murderous intent.”

      “Thank you, brother dear.  We both knew the hazardous conditions into which we were stepping and that they manifest with our foot first crossing the threshold should be of no surprise, given Mummy’s efficiency for socialization and concomitant gossip.”

      “Notify John that I will be in my room when he has escaped Mummy’s clutches.”

      “You may do that yourself.”

Mycroft linked Sherlock’s arm in his with a grip his younger brother had no chance of breaking and marched him into the drawing room where their respective counterparts had been led much as soldiers led by their general.

      “I refuse to be dragged to my doom by an ox!”

      “Stop wriggling and I _might_ take pains not to gore you to death with my horns.”

Pulling Sherlock along, Mycroft hoped this would not be the timbre of the entire visit.  It was far too exertive for his tastes and his energies must be conserved for whatever activities Gregory might choose to occupy his time when away from Mummy’s hawkish gaze.  The walking alone, that was certain to manifest, would be sufficient to require a heartier than standard breakfast and lunch.  Best alert the kitchen staff now and save them the steps to and fro to keep his plate properly filled…

__________

      “Oh, Gregory!  You cannot ask me to believe you kept a ferocious jungle beast as a house pet!”

      “It’s true!  Beautiful thing and had the temperament of the dearest little cat.  Kept all sorts of other beasties out of my tent, too, even those that were far larger than the standard mouse.  Made certain to find her a very handsome gent to spend her time with when we had to come back to London as a little ‘thank you’ for all her hard work.  Probably have babies running all over by now!”

John indulged in one of the best cups of tea he’d ever sipped and laughed more at Sherlock and Mycroft’s anguished expressions than his friend’s storytelling.  They had no idea how thoroughly the explorer could charm older women when he had a mind for it and that was certainly the case now.

      “Listen to you… you have armfuls of stories to tell don’t you?”

      “Two armfuls, if I might boast a bit.  That’s one of the many benefits of my work – every day brings new surprises, challenges and a host of interesting stories.  One day, I’ll write them all down and see if anyone’s willing to publish them.  Mycroft already volunteered to read through the tangle and fix my writing so a body who wants to read my tales of adventure can actually _understand_ what I’ve written.”

      “He did?  Well, that is something of a change in disposition.  Mycroft must usually be goaded with a sharpened stick before he offers his assistance voluntarily for anything.  And you may cease sniggering, Sherlock, for the stick required to prompt any generosity from you must be twice as sharp and dipped in an extract of stinging nettles.”

Sherlock’s squawk startled the young maid bringing a new tray of refreshments, prompting John to hop up and steady the girl, much to Sherlock’s new surge of very visible displeasure, something that Mycroft jumped in to try and hide from motherly scrutiny as he rose to take the tray from the maid’s hands.

      “Do pardon me, Sherlock.  I had no idea your foot was so placed and I apologize for stepping upon it.  I hope the experience was not too painful for you.”

Oh no.  Glint.  There was glint in Mummy’s eyes.  Motherly glint.  Meddling motherly glint.  Oh well, better Sherlock than him.  Actually… well done, Sherlock, for taking the full brunt of Mummy’s attention and leaving naught for himself and Gregory.  Perhaps a new box of glassware shall be your reward when we return home.  Or foregoing the withholding of your allowance to pay for the glassware that you saw fit to destroy during your last round of experiments…

      “Yes, Mycroft… do be careful, for we know Sherlock has the most delicate of physiques.”

Now Lestrade was grinning, which widened after the nearly imperceptible nod of confirmation given him by Mycroft, hearing the very pointed and triumphant tone in his mother’s voice.

      “I will, Mummy.  Now, shall we hear another of Mr. Lestrade’s exhilarating tales of adventure?  Or, one from Doctor Watson, perhaps?  I am most certain he has his own portmanteau brimming with epic stories with which to regale us.”

      “Yes!  Doctor Watson, do begin while your tea is refreshed.  Something quite replete with danger and valorous doings would be just the thing, don’t you agree, Sherlock?  Dear Doctor Watson should get his chance to bask in the glow of our regard, as well, this fine afternoon.”

Sherlock knew something was going on, but had no firm idea what that might be.  That it involved Mummy and, seemingly, Mycroft, it was most certainly at his expense, but there was no particular target at which to hurl his verbal acid.  When in doubt, become intractable.

      “No.”

      “Well, your opinion, when weighed against mine, is much as a groat compared to a guinea so, Doctor Watson, please, let us hear your tales of bravery and excitement.”

John, also, knew something was in the air, but his strategy was to follow the river’s course, keeping one eye out for rocks and the other for a handy raft.

      “I may have one or two that would satisfy, though, I’m not the storyteller Greg is.”

      “Oh, I have no doubt you are a most scintillating individual, Doctor Watson.  Sherlock is that not the case?”

      “I am not participating in this conversation.”

      “Really, Sherlock… do behave.”

      “No.”

Lestrade reached over to swat Sherlock, which married well with Mycroft’s glare and forceful harrumph, prompting Sherlock to scoot his chair farther from the conversation cluster.

      “Ignore him, Doctor Watson.  Sherlock has ever evinced a contentious persona when asked to interact with a number of human beings greater than one, including himself.  However, that does not, in any way, detract from his exceptionally fine qualities as a person and the warm heart he harbors deep, very deep, within his breast.”

Sherlock turned his chair to face away from the rest of the room’s occupants and his mother could not say it was the worst possible action he could have taken so scored the event as a victory in her newly-begun campaign.

      “Ah, excellent.  Sherlock hopes to listen to your words without any distraction.  Now, please, Doctor Watson, entertain us with your stories.”

John’s river was hitting far more rocks than finding rafts, but he decided that his original plan was still the best one, especially given the circumstances.  This was Sherlock’s mother, for heaven’s sake, not an ordinary hostess or woman of the manor.  Had to take special care here, because… mothers!  Mothers fell into their own, peculiar category and… oh no… he was starting to think like Greg.  That wasn’t good.  Not good at all.  Greg was insane and he couldn’t be insane.  He was a doctor!  Nobody would hire an insane doctor, not even the directors of a madhouse.

      “Doctor Watson?”

      “OH!  Right.  Yes… just thinking of a good story.  Ooh… I know a fairly exciting one.  Not this last expedition, but the one before, we found this village and…”

Mycroft sat back and allowed John to give his first scored performance for the woman who was keenly evaluating every word and nuance of his behavior.  This visit had started splendidly!  Already the attention was solidly in a single direction, so his and Gregory’s time would be much more their own and wasn’t that an agreeable thing.  Time alone with Gregory was something to be savored and his appetites for savory morsels was very large indeed…

Mycroft shared a small smile with Lestrade, who returned it gladly as he relaxed and popped another nibble into his mouth.   John was a fish in a net!  Oh, this couldn’t be a better thing if he’d wished for it.  Move that stubborn bugger along with what he obviously wanted but wouldn’t bend his spine to pursue.  This was going to be fantastic for him and Mycroft, though.  Going to be very easy to sneak away for some time together and that was a very high priority item on his list of activities for this visit.  A few good walks where no eyes but their own might take notice of whatever they might find to pass the time.  And he had tremendous hopes of finding something very, very enjoyable, indeed…

__________

      “Alive?”

Sherlock stirred from what John had wondered was some form of mental fugue and pouted with full force.

      “Are we still engaged in inanity?”

      “By your standards, yes, but your mother and Mycroft are showing Greg the house and I said I’d let you give me the tour after I got some tea and food down your throat so you didn’t emaciate.”

      “Oh… well done.”

      “Thanks, now are you ready to give me the tour or are you going to regress further into childhood.”

Sherlock’s rude noise, at least, coincided with his unfurling from his chair and straightening his jacket.

      “First, I want to rid myself of this ridiculous costume.  Let us see where you are to be incarcerated for the duration and take a moment to find more reasonable garb.  Frankly, after this affront to good taste and comfort, a suit of armor would meet the criteria to be classed as reasonable.”

      “Alright, I could do with a quick scrub of my face, actually.  Probably have soot all over it from the train and it was very decent of your mum not to comment on it.”

Sherlock quickly licked his thumb and used it to wipe the tiny smudge he actually _had_ noticed that was under John’s ear.

      “Hey!  You are not _my_ mother, thank you very much!”

      “If I was, you would have learned better manners and grooming.”

      “That is completely false.  If you were my mother, I’d likely be the rudest, most self-centered, disarrayed creature to walk the Earth.”

      “Which is something to which to aspire, for freedom from society’s petty dictates and mores opens the path to pursuit of greater things.”

Something which might work for a person who hailed from a wealthy family and had a brother that tolerated more than the law probably allowed, but for the rest of humanity, that wasn’t exactly an option.

      “For now, I’ll stay with society’s dictates and keep gaining all those pestiferous things like a wage and a roof over my head.”

      “Your lack of spine is no credit to you, John.”

      “Makes me easy to pack for travel, though.  Just fold me away like a shirt and off I go.”

Sherlock’s snort was not nearly his most intense and John laughed at the pitiful attempt.

      “Now, can I please find some water, other than your saliva, to give my face a wash?”

      “My saliva is superior to any of the water in this household, but if you insist on using a substandard material for your ablutions, it is, of course, your choice.  No matter how wrong.”

      “Thank you.  Oh, and your mother said that dinner is going to be a rather large one and…”

      “What?  That was a very distressing pause.”

      “There _is_ going to be something of a party afterwards… expect dancing.”

      “NO!  No, I absolutely forbid it.”

      “I don’t think you have the power, actually.  Besides, your brother already tried to declare the house a danger to the Empire and threatened to telegraph for a few trains of soldiers to come and encircle the property to repel any incoming party attendees.”

      “Let me make a guess as to the outcome.  The idiotic explorer erupted in a flurry of clownish antics, all in support of Mummy’s foul scheme and Mycroft’s objections withered like leaves touched by winter’s cruelest fingers.”

      “Colorful.  And, accurate.”

      “I am surrounded by spineless worms!”

      “We’re inexpensive to feed, so that should make you happy.”

Sherlock stormed out of the room and John danced a few steps before dashing after him.  The Holmes brothers certainly didn’t seem the type to enjoy a social event, but that wasn’t going to detract from the evening in the slightest.  In fact, it might make matters quite a bit more fun…

__________

      “Mycroft?  Please… just one smile?”

      “No.”

      “Pleeeeeeease?”

      “No.”

      “Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?”

      “Good heavens, Gregory… get off of your knees.”

Lestrade pushed out his lower lip instead and made his best sad toddler face up at Mycroft who had been glowering at him since the lady of the house had released them outside of Lestrade’s temporary bedroom to freshen themselves and begin preparing for dinner.

      “I like it down here, actually.”

Mycroft’s irritated wave made the explorer grin and knee-walk across the floor after his Holmes.

      “You were utterly treacherous, Gregory.”

      “It’s not like you didn’t know your mum was going to do something like that!  It was a _very_ likely thing, so you can’t lay the blame fully on me.”

      “I can if I so desire, and I do.”

      “It’s just a little music!”

      “Dancing!  There shall be dancing, you villain, and you absolutely supported Mummy’s eagerness for the event.  One word from you that you were not fond of such things and she would surely have moderated her foolishness.”

      “You’re loony!  Actually, you’re simply hoping for a way to stay angry and, since I’m here, I’m the way of choice.”

      “Untrue.”

      “Very true.  You’re adorable when you’re trying to be petulant, though, so I forgive you.”

      “I need no forgiveness, for any nefariousness rests wholly on _your_ shoulders.”

      “My broad shoulders?  The shoulders that I throw back when I’m giving a talk so my chest gives its best show and makes your heart flutter?”

Lestrade knee-walked up to Mycroft and patted him softly on the leg while Mycroft’s mind processed what the explorer knew was a very good look for him and one he used to best advantage.

      “That was patently unfair, Gregory.  Further proof of your evil nature.”

      “Want some more?”

      “Gregory!”

      “Look how your mind went straight to very improper things.  That’s a glorious thing, in my opinion.”

And, to demonstrate his point, Lestrade leaned closer, lifted Mycroft’s hand and gave a tiny lick to the tip of Mycroft’s index finger.

      “GREGORY!”

      “You’re also adorable when you’re scandalized.  I am the luckiest man in the world.”

Especially since his Mycroft’s irritation was fading under the influence of his powers of seduction.

      “That was _highly_ indecent.”

      “Highly?  Really?   I would have thought slightly, maybe.  Somewhat, perhaps.  Looks I outdid myself, once again.”

Mycroft valiantly tried to hold onto his ire and found it slipping like water through his fingers.  His Gregory was the adorable one, in point of fact, and all the more so when he was behaving as a mischievous little boy.

      “I shall keep the ‘highly’ descriptor in place, despite your assertions to the contrary.”

      “Then you certainly won’t like this, then.”

Lestrade hopped to his feet and, flashing his most brilliant smile, reached out and took Mycroft in a gentle, yet firm, hug.

      “G…Gregory!”

      “Just wanted to do this while I said I was sorry for joshing with you like that.  I know you’re upset with the plans for the evening and my teasing isn’t going to make things better for you.”

Laying his head, very intentionally, on Mycroft’s shoulder, Lestrade grinned harder feeling the full-body shudder that was shaking his Holmes in the most delectable fashion.

      “I… that is… oh…”

      “Go ahead, Mycroft.  Use those arms.”

Mycroft alternately raising and lowering his arms had amused Lestrade greatly, but it was certainly time to let this gorgeous man hold him for a reason other than dancing.  Something Mycroft did, slowly and hesitantly, tightening his embrace once he had Lestrade in his arms.

      “See?  Not a single constable breaking down the door, no bolts of lightning from the heavens or anything of the like.  And doesn’t this feel wonderful?  Oh, don’t bother to answer, because I know it does.  Holding you like this and feeling you hold me… that’s something that could _only_ be described as wonderful, in my not-so-humble opinion.”

And, there were no servants taking a peek around the door of the bedroom or lingering around the corner to listen and spy.  Having trained explorer’s ears came in handy very frequently in his life and thanks would always been given for that particular fact.  Especially since Mycroft was completely incapable of noticing anything at that point, seemingly lost in the experience and making the tiniest of contented, rapturous noises that Lestrade was completely certain his beautiful Holmes had no idea he was making.

      “I promise tonight will be alright, Mycroft.  Just because there’s dancing and _we_ can’t dance, doesn’t mean there isn’t fun to be had.  You can watch the silliness and sip some good spirits, while I do my best to make your mother the envy of her friends and, hopefully, gain a few new financial supporters, as an additional benefit.  You just relax and let me do all the work.  Then, when it’s over and everyone’s left for home, we can do this again to celebrate surviving the evening.  How does that sound?”

Lestrade was glad he wasn’t expecting an answer because he certainly didn’t get one.  Mycroft was far too lost at the moment to pay heed to anything but the typhoon of sensations battering at him and threatening to drown his mind in the most pleasurable of ways.  The feel of his Gregory’s body pressed fully against his, the scent of the man’s skin and hair, the warmth… the fiery warmth that Gregory emitted like a roaring fire… it was indescribable.  He could never have imagined a joy so profound and it was _his_ joy to experience.  That was _another_ indescribable pleasure and his elation was becoming very difficult to control.

      “You… your argument h… has some merit, I suppose.”

      “There… see?  This is my area of expertise, love, so I’ll make certain you don’t suffer a whit from any of that pesky dancing and socializing.”

Mycroft’s sharp gasp of breath and nearly crushing hold on Lestrade made the explorer chuckle softly.  His Mycroft deserved his own special name, and that one was… well, it certainly _wasn’t_ proper, to say it was the most _accurate_ choice, because it was far too soon for that sort of thing, but it was common enough for a common man like him to use so any other, deeper meaning, didn’t have to be explored in any depth whatsoever.

      “Now, we both have to make ourselves presentable and you know your mother is going to inspect closely to make certain we meet her exacting standards.  Of course, our inspection won’t be as harsh as Sherlock’s, since she’s trying to sell him like a prize sheep to John, so that will be another bit of fun to observe tonight.”

Mycroft’s mind ignited with an older sibling’s satisfaction at a younger one getting his much-deserved motherly-misery and he laughed softly while his arms failed to heed his mind’s word of caution and began moving slightly along Lestrade’s back.

      “You have my assurance that she is currently choosing Sherlock’s garments, and will give him the most intense scrutiny before he is allowed to again present himself to Doctor Watson.  He tipped his hand, poor boy, and now must pay the rather exorbitant penalty.”

      “If it wasn’t so funny, I might actually feel sorry for him.”

      “But, since the amusement value is extreme, the pity to be extended is nil.”

      “Precisely.”

      “Our minds and thoughts are laudably complementary, my dear.”

Lestrade purred and let his own hands roam just the slightest bit, because he had been a _tad_ worried that Mycroft had avoided that phrase since the first time he uttered it.

      “Those, and other things.  Notice how we fit like pieces of one of those dissected puzzles?”

Oh yes, Mycroft had noticed that straight away and it was part of the reason his responses to this situation were powerful and would become highly embarrassing if Gregory noticed the most ardent of those responses.  This was a time his frame, specifically the robustness of his belly, worked to his advantage.

      “An omen, Gregory, do you feel?”

      “That very well could be.  You should fit well with the person who you _want_ to fit with and we certainly do.  But…”

The mournful tone of Lestrade’s voice gladdened Mycroft’s heart, but made it even harder to lower his arms and step away from the most unexpected and treasurable thing to ever enter his drab and dreary life.

      “Yes, your point is well taken.  We shall not be exempt entirely from Mummy’s judgement and a failing mark shall be something we will quickly come to regret.”

      “Then I bid you farewell, for the moment, Mr. Holmes.  Let’s try and sneak a good drink of something bracing before the festivities begin, what say?”

      “An excellent idea.  And, likely, it shall be only the first of many to survive this travesty.”

Lestrade made his sternest look of chastisement and pointed towards the door, laughing when Mycroft slumped his shoulders, lowered his head and walked at a funeral’s pace out of the room.  His dear Holmes… given his natural temperament, this sort of evening was absolutely the sort of thing to fill him with dread, but Mycroft’s wasn’t alone to suffer it anymore.  If there was one thing Greg Lestrade was good at, and there was a bounty of those things, in truth, it was navigating a social situation with both success and enjoyment.  And it was both his honor and delight to share that skill with the majestic creature that just slunk away to don something breathtaking… oh, this was going to be a fine evening and fine evenings with his Mycroft were pearls to be worn proudly…

__________

      “Stand still!”

      “You are attempting to end my life with a pair of shears!”

      “Silly boy, when last did you visit a barber?  Your hair is a disgraceful mass of errant strands and some are near to escaping the rest of the herd.  I simply wish to affect a few strategic snips to bring order to the chaos.”

Sherlock wrapped his hands over his head and glared at his mother with as much force as he could, seething that it had as much effect as it ever had in his life.  Which was none.

      “No.  Begone and find your maid to enshroud you in your gown.”

      “It is a mother’s duty to see her sons properly presented when milling in society and that is a duty I take most seriously.”

      “That is a lie, for you have told me on more than one occasion that if I fail to appear at one of your social events in the nude, you shall consider it a triumph.”

      “You are no longer fifteen years of age, Sherlock, so the standard must be adjusted.”

      “I do not see what that is the case.  Age should not be a criterion by which to score one’s conduct.  Witness Mycroft.  He has not adjusted his behavior since the cradle and is still considered the most tedious man in England.”

      “Your brother’s mature and somber nature has served him in good stead, so hold your mockery since that good stead has kept you living in luxury despite any gainful employment of your own.”

      “The fact that society does not lay gold and jewels at my feet to reward me for my genius is, in no manner, my fault.”

      “And how long do you believe Doctor Watson will tolerate your slothfulness?”

      “As it benefits him, due to the abundance of time I can allot our work, I suspect the answer is eternally.”

      “If you were female and that time was used to oversee his home and rear his children, your point might be valid, however, you cannot expect the same consideration given your masculinity.”

      “What?  Mummy, you do realize that John, with the appropriate credentials as a doctor, can sign the papers to relocate you to a building where parties and fine dinners occur only in the lunatic ravings of the inhabitants.”

      “Pish and tosh.  Do you plan on making your household within your brother’s walls?  I cannot see an independent man like Doctor Watson suffering that blow to his pride.  He would expect his own residence and you, as an able-bodied man, to contribute to the mortgage and upkeep.  Though, given your absence from his own property, Mycroft might be willing to fund your new life, if only to purchase for himself much-needed peace and quiet.”

Sherlock shook his hands-held head and hoped his ears were not telling his brain the level truth.

      “Whatever are you babbling about, Mummy?”

      “Sherlock… against the expectations of… everyone in creation… you have gained interest in someone and that someone does not appear to rebuff your advances.  Given the uniqueness of this situation, we must capitalize upon it and that will not occur if you appear as an unwashed urchin wearing a mop upon his head.  It is a pity that I did not have a wager with Mycroft on this eventuality, for I am quite certain he would have offered a hefty sum in defense of his position and I saw an exquisite brooch during my last trip to London that would look even _more_ exquisite affixed to…oh, any number of items of my current wardrobe.”

      “NO!  No, you… just no.  This conversation is at an end, besides my admonition not to extend it, in any form, beyond this room.”

      “You really should use your brother as a model for an intimidating visage, Sherlock.  He does it exceedingly well and looks not, in the least, like a dyspeptic terrier, which is, unfortunately, your current level of mastery.”

Sherlock hurled himself into the chair beside the window and began pouting with a force that could have blistered paint, something which his mother remembered well from many, many days in his youth.

      “You will not speak to John for any reason.  Ever.”

      “That is rather unlikely, since he is a guest in my home and, apparently, the man you are pursuing as a suitor.”

      “EVER!”

      “Do you require a tisane of some form?  I believe my maid knows a recipe for something soothing.”

      “E. V.  E.  R.”

      “Correctly spelled.  It is good to know your college expenses were not wasted.”

Sherlock’s agonized groan made his mother smile broadly and clasp her hands in eagerness.  She had been denied this during both her son’s maturation and certainly never expected it at this point, but courtship was in the air and that air was sweet as any perfume.

      “Now, sit there and I will tend to your hair before examining your clothing for the most suitable ensemble.  I do wish you or your brother would have informed me of this development earlier, so I could have ensured something special was ready for you when you arrived.  Well, there is no use worrying now and your doctor will likely be as ill-prepared as are you for a resplendent presentation.  Although I cannot imagine another individual with as little concern for the opinion of others as you, I suspect Doctor Watson is of an independent mind and will not fracture his accounts simply to make a fashionable impression.  Besides, what use is something your brother would commission when one is running from savages, wrestling lions and avoiding fever.”

Sherlock curled into a fetal ball, which was most agreeable to his mother, since his hair was still exposed and his full-body sulk kept him quiet enough for her to tidy her son’s curls.

      “There, much better.  Now, do try and intake a bit of air at some point, for I would hate to have to summon your intended to revive you from a faint.  Hmmm… let us see what Mrs. Hudson provided in your luggage.  A most impertinent woman, but she does have an acceptable eye for color and tailoring.”

As Sherlock curled more tightly into his ball, his mother smiled and mentally laughed at how loudly Sherlock was screaming his feelings and intentions about John, though he surely heard not a word of it.  A word _would_ be had with Mycroft, however.  If Sherlock could secure a romantic interest, there was no reason he could do the same.  Well, if there were available men to be had in London, then she might have to visit more often and make a few discreet inquiries to see who might match well with her eldest.  It was a tremendous shame that Lestrade person was a typical man and not of Mycroft’s sort.  What someone like that could do for her little boy was unimaginably delightful and if anyone deserved some delight in their life, it was her dear Mycroft…


	21. Chapter 21

      “Well?”

How could Gregory ask foolish questions such as that?  Arms spread, grin wide, a rich gray jacket and trousers with the sauciest of crimson waistcoats… the explorer knew his appearance was awe-inspiring, the scamp.  However, his Gregory certainly thrived on praise and one could not say it was not exceedingly warranted.

      “Exquisite, my dear.  Truly exquisite.”

      “And here I was going to use that word for you and now you’ve stolen it.  Quite unfair, Mr. Holmes.”

Because Mycroft _was_ exquisite.  As stunning as he was in his blues, blacks and grays, he was, perhaps, even more so in warmer tones, such as the touch of earthy green that graced this evening’s garments.  All men should hope to look this striking…

      “I do apologize.  I shall make a mental note for the future to comment on your appearance in nothing but derogatory terms to avoid a repeat of this tragedy.  But, tell me honestly, Gregory, do you believe yourself properly prepared for this?  The pain will be an unholy thing, that much is certain.”

Lestrade let his ears roam and hearing nothing in the vicinity, stepped forward and ran his hand along Mycroft’s cheek.

      “It’s going to be fine, I promise.  Just preside over everything and everyone like a king, which you are, in my eyes, and let me be the court jester.”

Mycroft leaned into the touch and wondered how different his life would have been if someone had been there in support of him through the years.  Well, it was senseless to dwell upon the past… better, by far, to focus on the very bright future shining ahead of him.

      “Shall I find for you a belled hat and shoes?”

      “I’d wear them, you know.  Have one of those fancy-dress balls and I’ll absolutely be your jester.”

And he would play the part with unbridled enthusiasm, there was absolutely no doubt.  His Gregory was nothing if not a showman and the nature of his stage or audience was entirely inconsequential. 

      “Something I shall keep in mind.  Now, are we ready?”

      “We are ready.  Any specific people you know your mum would want me to pay special attention to?  Particularly good friends or particularly bad enemies?”

      “Hmmmm… none spring to mind, but, to my discredit, when Mummy begins to discuss the gossip of her little circle, I allow my mind to wander to more pleasant topics, such as plagues or ravages of war.”

      “What a terrible son you are.  Looks like that’s another job I have to take on – listening to your Mum’s gossip.  That’s how you learn important things, you know.  Who’s having it on with who, who still has their money and who doesn’t, who’s making what messes and who is cleaning them… all important stuff.”

      “Only you, Gregory, would champion that position.”

      “So would your mum.  That sums to two.”

      “I stand corrected.”

      “And you do it majestically.”

Mycroft tried to maintain a serious expression and found himself failing utterly.

      “Whatever shall I do with you, Gregory Lestrade?”

      “I can give you a very detailed list, if you’d like, but I probably should do that after the guests leave because I don’t want anyone else to see that gorgeous color your cheeks turn when I get a bit randy.”

And smile your most salacious smile to emphasize your point, you devilish creature.  Let us hope Mummy has placed us at opposite ends of the table, for you will certainly tempt me with your manly wiles throughout dinner and my vexation will be far too difficult to contain… though the candlelight would mask any reddening cheeks rather effectively… perhaps a closer sitting would be manageable, at least for the length of a dinner…

__________

Good heavens… Mummy had outdone herself…

Mycroft looked at the dining room, that had been fully utilized and appointed with every piece of china, silver and crystal the family owned.  Were they receiving the Queen?  Apparently, his mother had grand hopes for her little gathering and, given the lack of notable personages in this quaint region of the country, Gregory _could_ be considered quite the social triumph.  How delightful… there went the final vestige of hope that tonight might maintain some degree of sobriety and subtle elegance.

      “This looks amazing!”

Thank you, Gregory.  Your vote has been duly noted.

      “It appears Mummy is most excited for her little event.  It is not terribly often she entertains at this scale, so I assume she is anticipating a highly successful party.”

      “As well she should be!  I’ll certainly do my part.  And look!  Here’s John ready to do his!  Wearing something I know he didn’t bring along in his luggage, so we’ve already got a mystery or a miracle on our hands, which will certainly add some interest to the goings on.”

Mycroft took a moment to observe the good doctor who was pursing his lips and, seemingly, trying to decide if he should punch the explorer in the nose now or wait until the guests arrived so they could enjoy the show.

      “Funny, Greg.  Almost as funny as our hostess storming my room and inspecting my clothes like she was a general surveying her troops.  Needless to say, the luggage did not pass muster, but I was spared having it executed for dereliction of duty, so I won’t have to travel home naked as the day I was born.  Did you know that a skillful lady’s maid and one of those valet chaps can take a hard look around a house this size and find something ‘appropriate’ for a ‘man of my stature’ to wear?  They can, so now you do.”

Lestrade looked at Mycroft, who looked back at him before the two started laughing, thoroughly startling one of the house staff who, in their twelve years in Mrs. Holmes’s service, had never heard Mr. Holmes the Elder laugh one, single time.

      “Glad I could entertain the both of you.  Really, I feel so uplifted, doing this very helpful public service.”

      “Sorry, John, but you have to admit that having Mycroft’s mum dress you like a schoolboy, or doll, is something worth laughing at.”

      “There will be _no_ admission of anything.  Especially with you looking like one of those blokes who introduces new acts at the music hall.”

Lestrade grinned, took a deep bow, then straightened his waistcoat and grinned again.

      “Like it?  I do look impressive.”

      “Garish.  You look garish.  Learn your words, you stupid explorer.”

      “Mycroft knows more words than both of us so he can be the judge.  Mr. Holmes – impressive or garish?”

And do make a grand show of seriously considering the question, my dear Mycroft.  Somber contemplation suits you very nicely.

      “Hmmmmm… I would offer resplendent, instead.”

      “That wins!  It’s got more letters.”

John waved off the defeat and focused on the arrival of the fourth of their private party.

      “Sherlock!  You look as uncomfortable as I feel.”

Though uncomfortable should always look that… resplendent.  Apparently, Sherlock’s mum had included her own son in the Great Dressing Adventure because that was certainly not what his traveling companion had chosen to wear this evening.  Not that he was going to complain because Sherlock wore fine clothes _wonderfully_...

      “This is your fault, John.  A measure of that is shared with Mycroft and Lestrade, for their actions or lack thereof have dragged the situation to this disastrous level, but the lion’s share remains fully in your lap.”

      “Oh no!  You can’t call me the villain in this tragedy.  I’m as wrapped as a Christmas gift!”

      “One a particularly troublesome child might find on Christmas morning.”

Mycroft and Lestrade shared another look, this one to remark on their agreement that Sherlock was exactly that particular sort of child, so wasn’t he a lucky boy tonight.

      “Regardless, I have to wear my wrapping for the entire evening and I’m going to need a lot of fine food and drink to make the experience tolerable.  Luckily, I think that’s rather what’s in store for me, so my continued survival is fairly well assured.”

      “You are as easy to please as Toby.  Hand to you a bone with a bit of meat still adhering and you will roll to allow your belly a rubbing by any who might happen by.”

      “That sounds like a very good evening to me, as long as the one doing the rubbing has further plans that involve something other than gristly bones, if you know what I mean.”

No, Sherlock did not, precisely, but there was something tawdry in the air and, unlike Mycroft, he was not averse to new experiences.  It was the core of scientific progress, for heaven’s sake.

      “No, so you will take pains to inform me in detail once we are done with this particular affront to civilization.  However, since you are more amenable to… everything… when you are provided with a beverage, I shall obtain one for you.  Tea is likely not on offer, but you prize alcohol nearly as dearly, so that will do.”

Sherlock stalked away to find a servant to terrorize, leaving John still in the pit with the lions.

      “Don’t say anything.  Not one word out of either of you.”

      “Does laughing count as saying.”

      “Shut it, Greg.”

The explorer made a show of shutting his mouth and locking it with an imaginary key, that he handed to Mycroft for safe-keeping before noticing that another arrival was bearing down on them with an intensity rivaling that of Sherlock’s.

      “There you are!  Oh, Doctor Watson, my maid did a stellar job.  You are most handsome, I must say.  And Gregory… perfect.  Absolutely as I expected.  Mycroft…”

His mother’s extended pause was also expected, to Mycroft, at least, but he felt still the small dimming of his internal light as he waited for the criticism.

      “I am most astounded!  Dear me, you present quite the striking picture tonight.  I will have to give my regards to Mrs. Hudson, painful as that might be, for she has surely done an admirable job providing you with appropriate attire.  And you wear it exceedingly well.”

Mycroft blinked in surprise and Lestrade wished with all his heart he could reach out and give the man any form of touch for support.  It was terrible to see Mycroft so affected by such a tiny word of praise, for it said volumes about how little he had received in this life.

      “Thank… thank you, Mummy.”

      “Now, my guests are to arrive shortly and I am most dedicated to the view that everyone should have a lovely time.  Let us all take pains to ensure that is the case.  I have crafted a seating arrangement for dinner that should situate Gregory and Doctor Watson very well within the mix and, Mycroft, I am looking to you and your brother to perform your duties with eagerness and no ridiculous fuss.  I realize the inappropriateness of that expectation for Sherlock, but do try and see him somewhat cooperative with all of this.  Not that, John, Sherlock has an utter lack of social skills, but, rather, he is somewhat selective as to when he chooses to display them.  A gathering of close friends would be more to his personal tastes and he would comport himself very admirably, you can be assured of that.”

Mycroft pursed his lips to keep from laughing and was happy to see his Gregory was struggling just as mightily.  Mummy was now on a mission and would not stop until she met with victory, regardless of the casualties she left in her wake.

      “Oh… yes, I’m sure Sherlock can be a very gracious host when things are a bit more at his scale.”

The happily clasped hands and excited gasp reassured John that his response was well-received and that he had dug the hole into which he was descending a few feet deeper in depth.

      “Exactly!  What a well-suited… companion… you are for my Sherlock.  Adventurous, learned, a good judge of character… very well-suited, indeed…

Hole now the depth of a coalmine.  Glorious.

      “Ah, I believe I hear the first of our arrivals.  Mycroft, do be pleasant to our guests.  Take your cue from Gregory who I simply know shall charm everyone with scarcely any effort.”

Dashing off to meet her friends, no notice was taken of Lestrade’s puffed chest or Mycroft’s indulgent smirk.  Yes, the dashing and personable explorer was certainly replete with charm, but the best of it, the most meaningful, was reserved for him.  No Christmas gifts were required under _his_ tree this year, for he had won the most spectacular one imaginable and… oh dear.  Women.  And they were already bearing down on Gregory like bees to a particularly handsome flower.  Father Christmas had much to answer, it seemed, for and one did not refuse when Mycroft Holmes arrived to demand an accounting…

__________

Well, this was pleasant.  In fully the opposite meaning of the term as used in standard English, of course.  A vast dining room filled to capacity with individuals with whom he had the slightest of acquaintances and shared no interests of which to speak.  And Gregory was fully a league away!  Of course Mummy had to seat the scintillating man in the center of the vast table so his brilliance could shine equally in both directions and he was accessible to the largest number of guests, but… it was intolerable!  Utterly intolerable.  Here _he_ was, sitting at the head of said table and scarcely able to catch his paramour’s eye.

No, that was an untruth.  Each time he was growing distressed at the lack of contact, a look would be cast his way to provide reassurance that he was being both thought of and thought of fondly.  And, in truth, it was enough.  Gregory had, in a way, a job to do and was excelling at it.  However, he did not forget the person, sitting here, who wished with a powerful force that the others in the room would melt away like phantoms at the breaking dawn, leaving them alone for a quiet meal together.  But, there would be an abundance of evenings for quiet meals and the loss of one should not be considered a hardship.  No matter how soul-sapping was the experience…

      “I would rather wear a hangman’s noose and dangle from the limb of a tree than endure another minute of this.”

Speaking of soul-sapping… how charitable of Mummy to sit Sherlock on his left so that he could monitor the behavior of the world’s most infuriating dining companion.  John was a nice distance further down table, so he could add his own voice to Gregory’s performance, leaving the child minding to the one least desirous of such a thing.

      “So would I, Sherlock, but there are things one bears with good grace for the sake of one’s mater.”

      “If I, this very instant, slid down beneath the table and crept away from this lunacy, Mummy would not even notice.”

      “Untrue.  If you bothered to observe, you would have noticed that she favors you with more than the occasional glance to verify both your presence and your conduct.”

      “After she mauls my head with her blades of defilement, it is the height of cruelty to force me to sit here where the only access to conversation beyond that of a toddler’s level is with you.  The price to be paid of crushing boredom is not one my mind can long afford.”

      “I have little doubt you have upon your person somewhere a book, brother dear, so why do you not engage in a little reading while dinner continues?”

      “I _do_ have the journal documenting John and my most recent experiments…”

      “Might I also assume you have hidden a pencil on your person as well as said journal?”

      “You might.”

      “Then please do conduct whatever reading and annotating you desire, just as long as your diversion remains out of Mummy’s line of sight.”

No coaxing was needed as Sherlock wriggled his journal up from the back of his trousers, much to Mycroft’s vexation, and slid a pencil down from his left-hand sleeve.

      “I will now begin.  Do not disturb me unless the Apocalypse arrives and I am needed to help decide between humanity’s wheat and chaff for populating the Promised Land.”

Which, if Sherlock was given the hand of God, would have a population smaller than that of a village on the bleakest coast of Greenland after a plague had run through.  But a quiet Sherlock was to everyone’s benefit, so the conversation would be declared officially completed.  Besides, this would leave him more undisturbed time to gaze at Gregory’s masculine beauty and collect the small shared glances that were more delicious than any truffle to ever grace his tongue.  Oh dear… best not think of tongues, given Gregory’s earlier... sauciness.  No thinking of the warm, soft wetness lightly touching his finger or else… too late.  Fortunately, dinner was not remotely close to being over so there was sufficient time to allow certain anatomical regions to relax back into a calm and placid state.

Unless, of course, his mind wandered further to the strength and comfort of Gregory’s embrace.  It was… it was impossible to properly describe the exhilaration and unchecked surge of emotion when his dear explorer took him in his powerful arms and allowed, _encouraged_ , him to do the same.  To hold someone, someone dear… to give in to the desire… it was indescribable.  Nearly as indescribable as being held by someone who _cared_.  Something he never, not a single time in this life, believed he would ever know.  It was a transforming feeling and he welcomed it gladly.

      “Your trained monkey is currently being given licentious glances by four females at this table.  No… five.  The number varies moment to moment in a most unwholesome dynamic.”

Of course, that transformation was accompanied by some few areas of challenge, but never let it be said that Mycroft Holmes ran from a challenge.

      “There is also no doubt that three in the last five minutes have altered their posture to better present their bosoms for his inspection.”

Walking, however, was a completely healthy response when one faced a challenge…

__________

      “Sorry, Sherlock, but you have to do it.”

      “I see no reason, John, why I must linger to watch the gibbering fools engage in their ungodly rituals.”

      “It’s just a bit of dancing!  Besides, I have to stay or your Mum will box my ears, so _you_ have to stay, as well.  Have some more wine and find someone interesting to talk to while I mingle about.  Or mingle with me!  I’m certain lots of the guests would like to have a word with a real scientist.”

      “They cannot spell scientist, let alone fathom the scope and depth of my work.”

      “You’re determined not to make this easy, aren’t you?”

      “Ummmmm… yes.”

      “Perfect.  Well, I plan to dance with as many ladies as will give me the honor and do my best to help make your mum’s party a rousing success.  Have to help Greg, too, because he’s doing his utmost to make connections with this lot so some of their money flows in our direction.”

      “Oh, I thought he was simply being self-admiring.”

      “Can’t deny that’s not part of it, because he very much likes the sound of his own voice.  And the look of his ogre-like face.  But don’t mistake him being a touch colorful and energetic with him wasting time.  It’s usually for a purpose and this purpose funds our expeditions, so it deserves all the support I can give it.”

      “Very well.  You may support the buffoon insomuch as it assists your endeavors, however, that shall mark the terminus of the frivolity.”

      “I have no idea what you just said.”

Sherlock’s exasperated huff and exaggerated rolling of his eyes made John grin and marvel that such a dramatic, brilliant and unique person as Sherlock Holmes was interested in a fairly ordinary bloke who, admittedly, _did_ have a taste for adventure and, if was honest, the tart tang of danger now and again. It baffled his mind and, honestly, he had no idea how he felt or what he wanted to do with this situation, but it was certainly not something to be acted on or walked away from without a very great deal of thought and consideration.

      “I am experiencing not a scintilla of surprise at that confession.  However, I suppose I should consider myself fortunate as Mycroft is having to suffer the indignity of having his supposed… person… stand as the cockerel amongst a flock of lustful hens.”

      “I have to admit Greg’s receiving a lot of lust tonight, there’s no mistaking that.  He adores it, too.”

      “Which will agitate Mycroft’s already unsteady constitution to a highly entertaining level.  In fact… I believe I shall now begin to add misery to Mycroft’s musings.  Really, it is the only entertainment I might take from this unbearable debacle.”

      “Don’t upset your brother, Sherlock.”

      “I thought you were supposed to be dancing.  Look, that hen has strayed from the flock.  Perhaps you should go and escort her to the nearest supply of grain.”

Watching Sherlock bound off towards Mycroft, who had just finished extracting himself from some mother-prompted conversation with a group of serious-faced men, John wondered if he should follow and prevent Sherlock causing his brother a nervous episode.  However, since there was surely another doctor in a crowd this size, it could be the other fellow’s problem if Mycroft needed a bit of a lie down and something soothing for his nerves.  Besides, Sherlock’s mother was beginning to walk in this direction and a turn on the dance floor would postpone a maternal conversation to another time.  Such as after he’d had a few large glasses of something potent and pleasant…

__________

      “If he is not impregnating that female this very instant, I shall be most surprised.”

      “Good heavens, Sherlock…  Gregory is maintaining the socially-appropriate distance for dancing and you are well aware of the fact.”

      “You are failing to factor in the smoldering glances and beckoning smiles.”

No, he was not failing, in the least, to do that.  Currently, a bounty of mental energy was being used to conveniently ignore those particular things.

      “She desires him in her bedchamber, committing scandalous acts upon her body.”

      “Her desires are inconsequential.”

      “There!  She thrust her bosom a full twelve percent closer to his chest!”

      “Incorrect.”

It was sixteen percent, if it was an iota.  The trollop.

      “And, lo!  There are a bevy of others waiting their turn to feel his hands upon them and bathe in his pheromonal cloud.”

Mummy did not need that particular glass.  It’s sad fate as a selection of shards upon the sideboard on which it had met a forceful death would scarcely be remarked upon, especially since said shards were easily scooted behind the Japanese vase.  And how fortunate that his coat sleeve was highly absorbent of fine whisky.

      “Gregory is behaving entirely within the bounds of propriety and no different than another other man here tonight.  Save, of course, the two of us.  To do differently would, first, be looked upon with disfavor by Mummy and, second, raise questions in the minds of the other attendees as to why he was avoiding the normal activities in which one engages at a function such as this.”

      “Well done.  That was almost convincing; unfortunately, your jealous rage sufficiently clouded your reason so your effort fell somewhat short of the mark.”

Mycroft’s irritated waving off of his words delighted Sherlock to no end.  His brother was astoundingly easy to discompose when Lestrade was the focus and that meant a world of amusement for one willing to capitalize upon the situation.  Which was very much his intention for as long as humanly possible.

      “Kissing!”

      “WHAT? “

      “Oh, my mistake.  It was whispering… although the softness of his breath upon her skin is nearly as good as the touch of lips, don’t you think?”

Sherlock actually worried for a moment that he had overstepped the line as Mycroft’s complexion turned first to ghostly pale and then to rose red before his breathing took a turn for the pattern one notices for a person doing everything in their power not to erupt into a volcano of fury and really has not a single care about who might be immolated when the lava began to flow.

      “Go.”

      “Where?”

      “Now.”

      “That is not an acknowledged compass direction.”

Staring into the eyes of an angry bull who has turned the full force of that anger on you and is preparing to charge was not an experience Sherlock expected to have in life, but could now script it proudly on his list of accomplishments.  One that could do with a bit of updating and now was an excellent time to make a start on that project , though, in a space that was not within visual range of the beast snorting flames into his freshly-trimmed hair.

      “My word, Mycroft… where is Sherlock going in such a hurry?”

The bull whirled on his heel and hoped his grimace would make a successful substitute for a genial smile.

      “I believe he hopes to find a suitably warm scarf to match his garments.  You know, Mummy, how his rather cadaverous frame takes chill even on a temperate night such as this.”

      “That is true.  I must remind the staff to provide him a more sizeable portion at meals so that he might see a few ounces of meat added to his sticks and straw.  Doctor Watson surely will have something to say about the lack of anything beneath Sherlock’s skin but something fit only for scaring birds from the fields.”

And _he_ would see the staff piled his brother’s plate with all of the foods Sherlock most loathed, along with vinegared water as his only beverage.

      “And, I must confess, Mycroft dear… Gregory has surpassed all of my expectations.  What a delightful man!  I still cannot fathom how you came to become associated with such a vigorous man, for you become exhausted walking to the tobacconist, but I shall not question what is undoubtedly your first social coup.  No… I shall extend that to say your first true friend, for it is clear that he holds you in high esteem.  I have hoped for such for so very long, Mycroft and… you have actually met an individual who does not immediately make your face appear as if you have sipped soured milk and I am terribly, terribly happy for you.  Rest assured that Gregory will always be welcome here as an honored and valued guest.”

Good, for his ability to divert your attention will be most useful during future visits.  Which will, naturally, occur with some small frequency, as it is only right and proper that a courting couple pay respects to family and gain their blessing, though, as yet, dear Mummy, you have no knowledge of anything that might require such a blessing. Which is my _own_ blessing and one I highly treasure.

      “I am pleased you find him an agreeable individual.”

      “Dashing, positively dashing.  But with a keen mind and wonderful sense of humor.  Kindness, too, I suspect.  Is he a kind man, Mycroft?  What are your observations?”

Gregory was the epitome of kindness.  How an unrepentantly ribald man could have such a beautiful soul was a puzzle he had no interest in ever solving.

      “I would say he is, yes.  Honorable, as well.”

      “Excellent.”

      “I believe that to be the case.  There are few with his qualities, but that is a good thing, I suppose, for it preserves his uniqueness.”

Was that too… ardent?  Too admiring?  Mummy was nothing if not watchful for any indication of a noteworthy betrayal of emotion.

      “Better and better.”

      “Were you… I did not take it from your laudatory words that you worried about his and my friendship, however…”

      “What?  No.  Good heavens, Mycroft, I am supremely sincere in my gladness for your association and I will remain strongly committed to seeing you _maintain_ that association for you desperately need a touch of color and vibrancy in your life.  I simply wanted to know a bit more about the man behind the, shall we say, personality.  He plays a masterful role, however, I well realize that a good deal of it truly _is_ his nature.  He does relish embellishing that nature for his audience, though, does he not?”

      “That he does and it serves him very well in his work.  For his expedition funds, Gregory is frequently called to make presentations, give lectures and, yes, put on a show worthy of the stage to loosen pockets so that he may continue on the path he has chosen.  But do not disregard his natural exuberance for life and his passion for living it to its fullest.  That is certainly emblazoned upon his heart and each of his bones and such will never change, I suspect, though he lives another hundred years.”

      “Yes, truly a man of distinction.  I believe a more extended visit is just the thing to come to know him better, so expect to be in residence for several days, at least.  Also, I must gain a better understanding of Doctor Watson.  I take it your thoughts on him are also positive ones.”

And the pointed look in his mother’s eye told Mycroft his answer had best be a satisfactory one.  How joyful… several more days of Mummy’s matchmaking and unceasing meddling in their lives.  Really, this was the greatest boon he could be granted besides losing his head to the executioner’s axe.

      “Unquestionably.  Like Gregory, John is a man of notable strength and character.  And he is most serious-minded about his work and responsibilities.”

      “Which pleases Sherlock to no end, I wager.”

      “Sherlock does appreciate having someone who shares his dedication to the pursuit of knowledge, though John recognizes more than my dear brother that too narrow a focus can limit one’s enjoyment of the other opportunities one is presented in this world.”

      “I could ask for nothing more, beyond, of course, that Sherlock is happy with this turn of events and that he benefits from the experience.  Something, also, you will see that is maintained, will you not?”

Of course.  Such was the function of the older brother – see that the younger one enjoys a pleasant and unfettered life, though it adds immeasurably to your own burden of existence.

      “Yes, Mummy.”

      “Such a good son you are, Mycroft.  And, look!  Gregory is now dancing with Mrs. Chattingham.  Such a lovely woman and with four-score daughters at home.  I am certain they shall enjoy quite the pleasurable chat while Mr. Lestrade steers her through my ballroom.  My stars, Mycroft!  Have you become gaseous?  You appear as if your internals have become twisted into a Gordian knot.”

Because you and Sherlock are devoted to seeing my Gregory sold as stud to the region’s women!

      “Simply a remembered piece of business that I must tend to when I return to London, nothing more.”

      “Oh.  Well, place it back in the dark recesses of your mind because that is not the look I want to greet my guests when you engage them in conversation.  Which you will begin now.  Do not think I have not noticed that you are skulking and lurking, rather than mingling and conversing.”

      “I do not lurk.”

      “You _excel_ at it.”

Mycroft’s indignant snort warmed his mother’s heart for, in truth, her eldest was being most acceptable, in terms of collegial behavior.  Dour, as to be expected, but he had paused a moment here and there to share words with her guests and without an appreciable amount of prompting from her.  Sherlock was not sulking on a settee and Mycroft was marginally approachable… that alone marked this as her most successful gathering since she gave birth!

      “Balderdash.”

      “It is a joy to watch you… oh.  Miss Wickham seems to be eyeing Doctor Watson much as a hawk does a mouse.  I must intervene.  We shall continue this later.”

Watching his mother stride forward to preserve John’s availability for her youngest, Mycroft swallowed down the sour taste in his mouth that… that he could _not_ stride forward and take Gregory in his arms for to preserve _his_ availability and demonstrate most clearly to everyone that the explorer was taken and by someone who did not for a moment abide the concept of sharing.  All he could do was hold fast to the truth that Gregory’s devotion was unswayable, no matter the prettiness of the face or fullness of the bosom that might be on display at the moment.  Though… there was a _substantial_ number of faces, and bosoms, here tonight…

__________

      “There’s Mr. Holmes, presiding over his court with a benevolent and tolerant hand.”

Mycroft set down his newest whisky and pursed his lips at Lestrade, who was smiling brilliantly after another dozen or so dances with his admirers.

      “My jester appears to be enjoying himself.”

And do not smile knowingly at me, Gregory.  It is unfair and, given our playacting, most likely traitorous.

      “I am!  A good party is something to savor and I’ve been savoring with all my might.”

      “Yes, that much has been highly evident.”

Did you not understand my moratorium on knowing smiles, you treacherous jester?  Grin not, lest the gallows loom large in your future.

      “Of course, no matter how enjoyable the party, it pales in comparison to time spent with the special people in one’s life.  Nothing is better than that.  Nothing at all.”

Foul field.  Now you are caressing me with the gaze of your warm, brown eyes and I am certainly not yet ready to loosen my grip on my petulance.

      “I shall take you at your word.”

      “That you shall, because I don’t lie about things as important as that.  Of course, not much in my life is that important, so I am somewhat of a lying villain most of the time, but it’s part of my incalculable charm.”

Mycroft struggled fiercely not to smile at Lestrade’s new, self-satisfied grin, but met with utter defeat.

      “Yes, I am terribly surprised that you yet have not been taken into custody for vile affronts to truth and honesty.”

      “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m on the run.  This is just a false identity to throw the constables off my scent.”

Now, Mycroft was smiling openly and shaking his head at Lestrade’s looking around rather theatrically as if peering into every corner of the room for members of the local police, hiding in wait.

      “Oh dear, does that now make me an accomplice to your nefariousness?”

      “I’m afraid it does.  You’ll be done for assisting a fugitive or something of the like and it will probably go hard for you, what with being governmental and all.  Maybe they’ll put us in the same cell in prison.  We could pass the time commiserating over how we turned bad and brought shame to our families.”

Gregory Lestrade was an irredeemable rascal and wouldn’t the world be a duller place if he was anything else…

      “Now, though… it’s proper and expected for the special guest of a party to have a spot of time to chat with the man of the house and maybe take a little stroll to where it’s quieter so that chat can actually be heard over the din of the crowd, isn’t it?  Just a few minutes away to see how things are going and if everyone’s happy and getting their business done?  How does that sound?”

Like heaven descended onto Earth.

      “Most agreeable, I think.”

      “Great!  Then how about we…”

      “Gregory!  There you are!  You can speak with Mycroft later for, now, there is someone you certainly must meet.  Come with me and I shall introduce you.  Lord and Lady Falmouth are highly interested in what you do and are looking forward to discussing it in more detail.  Mycroft, continue mingling.  I do believe this party is catching its breath to continue on for quite some time!”

Mycroft’s pained groan was divided into two portions, one for the unending agony of the evening and the other for the loss of the man being dragged towards an older couple who gave his Gregory an appraising eye as he approached.  This was excruciating!  Not even a quiet word to be had with the one he longed to touch, if even simply to hold his hand.  Well, there was nothing for it but do duty for family and see that Mummy’s guests were acceptably served and enjoying their time.  Sherlock certainly would not do his part, but, at the very least, he was satisfactorily occupying himself keeping a watchful eye on John and not being a bother to the guests.  His behavior might charitably be termed enigmatic and that always added a bit of intrigue to any social event.  Mummy would certainly be pleased by that…

__________

Mycroft nodded politely to the last of the guests who made their way to the waiting carriages and experienced no surprise that, when he turned, he was nearly blinded by the gleam of Lestrade’s smile.

      “What a night!  Your mum certainly knows how to treat her guests.  Haven’t had that much fun at a dinner or dance in ages.”

      “Mummy does prize her skills as a hostess.”

      “As well she should.  Not all women in her position have the talent and I’ve suffered more than a few dreary evenings because of it.  Now, where have Sherlock and John gotten off to?”

      “Sherlock scarcely allowed John a breath once his final dance was done and whisked him away for, as Sherlock termed it, a purging of the evening’s horrors from his brain.”

      “That’ll likely take awhile and your mum has already gone upstairs for the night, so…”

      “Gregory?”

      “How about a walk?”

      “At this hour?”

      “Didn’t have a chance earlier.  It’s not terribly chilly and the moon is lovely, did you notice?  And it’s not unusual for two gents to take a walk after a night like this, maybe enjoy a bit of tobacco and talk about the people they’d spoken to and the news they’d gathered.”

No, that was not necessarily unusual, my dear.  How clever you are to notice.

      “I suppose I might forsake my bed for a tad longer, so that you do not have to enjoy your stroll alone.”

      “Very magnanimous of you, Mr. Holmes.  Shall we?”

Lestrade nodded towards the large doors leading to the rear of the house and the gardens that spread out over the grounds and smiled widely when Mycroft began walking towards them.  Once they were on the other side, it was as if some weight fell off of his Holmes’s shoulders and Lestrade beamed seeing the relaxation slowly seep into Mycroft’s bones.

      “You really do hate these sorts of things, don’t you, love?”

With the guests gone and the servants growing farther and farther away, Mycroft could finally let his emotions for the explorer rise and he felt a warmth bloom in his chest from the small term of endearment.

      “Hate is, perhaps, too strong a word, but… a boiling in oil would likely be a pleasanter experience.”

Making certain they were in sufficient darkness and completely alone in the gardens, Lestrade reached out, threaded his fingers between Mycroft’s and squeezed lightly.

      “Well, don’t worry about having to suffer the boiling much with me.  I get invited to quite a lot of these when I’m in London and I won’t expect you to come along, though it wouldn’t be considered strange for me to bring a friend, especially one as highly socially-placed as you.  But, knowing you’re awake late, or early depending on how you look at things, I can always stop in and end the day for a bit of time with you and tell you all my silly stories about the people I met.”

      “I… you would do that?”

      “Of course!  The last thing in the world I’d ever want is for you to be uncomfortable when you don’t have to be.  Besides, it’s what people do, right?  Make an effort to share news about their day with the people who’re important to them?”

Mycroft returned Lestrade’s squeeze of their hands and nodded.

      “It is and I would welcome such a thing.”

      “Then that’s what I’ll do.  Another benefit to being who we are!  If you were the lady in my life, you’d be expected to accompany me for all of that, but, being a fellow, you get to avoid all the oil boiling.”

Mycroft chuckled and shook his head in wonder at the sheer amount of optimism and confidence in Lestrade’s voice.

      “Truly felicitous.  I do not believe, either, that I would greatly enjoy the wearing of a gown.  They seem most cumbersome and, truly, I cannot abide the notion of a corset.  How does one breathe in such a thing?  Utter nonsense, in my opinion.”

Laughing loudly, Lestrade gently tugged Mycroft over to spot behind some hedges and continued to tug until Mycroft was snugly in his arms.

      “I think you’d be gorgeous in a gown, Mycroft.  Something blue, made of silk.  You’d be a vision of loveliness.”

Mycroft slowed his excited breathing and returned his explorer’s embrace, pausing a moment to indulge in the overwhelming joy of the simple act.

      “Mrs. Hudson has some talent for needle and thread, so perhaps she will fashion something appropriate for you to view.”

      “Perfect!  Until then, I’m more than content with what I’m looking at now.  You are positively gorgeous tonight, Mycroft.  Lit by candles or the moon, you take my breath away.”

It was still a jarring thing to hear such words, but Mycroft clung desperately to them, because they were words he had never known he needed to hear until they rang in his ears like church bells.

      “And you mine, my dear.  You fill my eyes like nothing in this world and I rejoice that, though you may have a legion of admirers, you return to these arms and are content.”

      “More than content, Mycroft.  So very much more.”

Maybe it was a reflection of the moon or maybe it was the light of something else, but Mycroft found himself transfixed by the glow in Lestrade’s eyes and remained mesmerized as the explorer leaned in and took his lips in a slow, soft kiss that shocked Mycroft so deeply Lestrade worried he’d stopped breathing.

      “Mycroft?  Are you… did I… I’m sorry if…”

What Lestrade was sorry about was lost to the night as Mycroft took his mouth in a slightly clumsy, but wildly passionate kiss that set each of the explorer’s nerves on fire with a searing heat that he gladly shared with the man kissing him with the entirety of his heart.  If it hadn’t been for the need for air, Lestrade suspected the kiss would have lasted until daybreak.

      “Oh… Gregory… that was… so utterly forward of me…”

And, of course, his dear Mycroft was now having an attack of the nerves and propers.  Which only made him all the more endearing…

      “That it was.  And so is this.”

‘This’ being a kiss that slowly built in intensity so Mycroft could feel every ounce of Lestrade’s desire as his lips tasted the man he adored.

      “It’s forward and improper and absolutely, unmistakably magical.  I’ve dreamed, had little fantasies, really, about what kissing you would be like, Mycroft.  How you would feel, taste… you’re more amazing than anything I imagined.  But that doesn’t surprise me in the least… _everything_ about you is more amazing than anything I could imagine.”

Especially when your eyes are shining with a luster exactly like starlight reflecting off water, but I won’t tell you because men aren’t supposed to get emotional, and pointing out those lovely, unshed tears would be very improper, indeed.

      “You… I… I have no words, Gregory.  I cannot…”

      “Then don’t.  Don’t say a thing.  Just stay here with me, on this beautiful night, and learn how to say everything you want to say without uttering a single word.”

And the lesson would begin with a gentle caress to Mycroft’s cheek, certainly not wipe away any stray moisture, then follow with more of the special magic reserved for those falling very much in love.  In the dark, all alone, everything they felt could be out in the open and shouted with a deafening silence to every star in the sky.  And, for such an enchanted moment, the dawn was happy to linger a little in its bed to give the happy couple time to enjoy the feeling as long as they wanted…


	22. Chapter 22

      “Mycroft.”

      “Mycroft.”

      “Mycroft!”

      “MYCROFT!”

Sherlock sighed loudly in frustration and finally jumped into his brother’s line of sight and proceeded to wave his hands frantically in the air.

      “Oh.  Sherlock.”

The last thing Sherlock expected to find when he visited Mycroft’s bedroom in the morning was his brother sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing last night’s clothes and staring blankly out the window, but now it was clear that Mycroft had become completely addle minded.

      “Yes, Sherlock.  Your brother.  Who has been sent by Mummy to verify your state of vitality since you are not at breakfast, an occurrence that can only be described as singular in your lifetime.”

      “I… dear me.  I had not noticed the time.  Do allow me a moment and I…”

      “Mummy has declared the morning fit for malingering since Lestrade is also absent and the notion of a bohemian start to the day is suiting her well, for some reason.  Break fast or do not at your leisure, though, I believe she hopes for a family lunch, so, if possible, reanimate your corpse and present yourself at table at the appropriate time or I shall instruct the servants to begin digging your grave.  Given the size of the hole necessary to house your vastness, they shall be at it for a fortnight.”

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  As always your concern and conviviality do you credit.”

      “I am well aware.  Now, would you care to explain your aberrant behavior?  If you have contracted something infectious, I would know now so that I might act to preserve my and John’s health and welfare.  I have a plague-doctor’s mask somewhere and I can surely find a cloth or something for John to use to avoid your contagions.”

      “It is… it is nothing, Sherlock.  Thank you for your visit; it has been as agreeable as ever.”

Sherlock wavered between the urge to leave and move on to more enjoyable things and remaining because… Mycroft appeared in need of… something.  Such was not a situation common for his brother and that, alone, was cause for concern.

      “Provide the answer to my question and I shall consider leaving.  Fail to answer and I will remain here for as long as you do.  And I shall not stand quietly.”

 Mycroft stared into his brother’s determined eyes and felt the highly uncharacteristic sensation of not knowing what to do.  How to distill, to _crystallize_ the thoughts/emotions/sensations that had overtaken him in, truly, the ultimate act of conquest.  How to express the ecstasy that flared to unimaginable heights as he shared the most passionate of kisses with Gregory.  To hold the man, to take his lips and feel the eagerness of his response…

      “And, again, you are catatonic.  This is completely unacceptable as there is not a cart of sufficient strength to bring your insentient body to a physician or alienist!”

      “Neither is necessary, brother dear, it is simply…”

      “Do not hesitate again or I shall make you regret the pregnancy of the pause.”

      “THIS IS NOT EASY FOR ME!”

Sherlock blinked back his surprise at Mycroft’s outburst, but felt some small measure of insight flare in his mind from the show of emotion.

      “This concerns Lestrade.”

      “It is of no importance.”

      “Did… he did not… disappoint you in some manner, did he?”

The genuine unease in Sherlock’s voice nearly tipped Mycroft back into an emotional maelstrom, but he rallied with a few deep breaths because for no reason under the sun would he show tears to the world twice in a single day.

      “Quite the opposite, actually.  Gregory… he has revealed to me an even greater depth of regard, of d…desire.  He kissed me, Sherlock.  He held me in his arms and kissed me, spoke to me words of the greatest beauty to proclaim his devotion.  He _kissed_ me, brother, and I… I am somewhat ashamed to say that I have yet to recover from the experience.”

Whatever Sherlock had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t that.  A kiss?  His brother?  And the world was still spinning on its axis?

      “That… I… did you… like it?”

      “Like?  There is no word for it, brother, no word at all, for what I felt.  I had, perhaps, thought there would be _some_ physical pleasure to be had, a measure of contentment with the show of affection, but… I underestimated things to a staggering degree.  It… I cannot describe it adequately, though I am enveloped in the memory and not a detail of it shall ever dim in my mind.”

There was a slight wobble in Mycroft’s voice that shocked Sherlock to his toes, but… for reasons he could not quite pinpoint, he understood it.  And, though it was abhorrent to consider, of course, he found himself happy for his pedantic and cripplingly-boring brother.

      “Then you shall repeat the experience in the future.”

The smile that spread across Mycroft’s lips also gave Sherlock’s toes a shock, because there was a decided touch of… lasciviousness… in there that was not something his sensitive nature could withstand, brotherly happiness or not.

      “Do not leer!”

      “Was I?  Oh, do pardon me.  Merely remembering… the _multitude_ of kisses we shared and the specific qualities of each that made it more precious than the most flawless of diamonds.”

      “Multitude?  Wantonness runs amok!”

      “I do hope so.  I am finding the creature surprisingly agreeable.”

      “No.  No, you shall not speak in anything approaching a lustful manner.”

      “You are not a child, Sherlock.  I am certain you are aware of the longings of the adult body and…”

      “NO!  You are attempting to evict me from your presence through the use of horrifying imagery, but you shall not prevail!”

      “Oh, are you hoping for further details of my and Gregory’s assignation?  The sultry, beckoning looks… the wandering of hands…”

      “My ears are bleeding!”

      “John should be able to assist you with that.  Why do you not go and find him for treatment.”

Sherlock’s agitated gyrations were truly an inspired performance and Mycroft watched with great interest for where this might lead.  Out of the open window was a very likely possibility.

      “Is this my future?  Regaled by skin-crawling stories of aged and fumbled carnality?”

Something that had actually occupied some significant portion of Mycroft’s post-assignation catatonia.  Carnality… there was certainly, now, the possibility of such a thing.  Gregory, in his bed, committing any and all forms of sensual pleasuring…

      “NO!  That is a libidinous color tinting your cheeks and I will not stand for such a thing!  I… I am leaving.”

Something Sherlock did with a haste that nearly kicked up dust in his wake, leaving Mycroft to calm his suddenly inflamed libido, though it was not a quick or easy process.  Nor had it been the past times this morning those thoughts had crossed his mind.  It was utterly improper.  Thoroughly indecent.  Something that certainly was not part of a mature and devoted relationship.

Or was it?  Gregory had surely hinted of such things.  Of desiring such a… passion… with the person who shared his life.  Even Mummy had indicated that Father… no, that was quite enough thought along that particular trajectory.  It was not spoken of in society and, from his observations, not a factor in the lives and marriages of the couples of his acquaintance, however… how many of those couples were joined for the reason of choice?  This was the very discussion he and Gregory had enjoyed that afternoon in the cab!  His Gregory championing the position of building a connection that embraced unbridled joy and, dare he think it, celebrated desire.  _Physical_ desire, as well as the desire for affection and companionship.

And, at that point, his Gregory already knew his own heart.  Their conversation was extremely revealing in hindsight and he kicked his lackluster mind once again for entirely missing the thrust of his dearest’s intentions. Knowing now the full truth of it… the chest of gifts his explorer was prepared to bestow was large and deep, it seemed and it was one he was unsure he was prepared to receive.  A kiss… a simple kiss and the walls of his control had crumbled.  Now, he was as intellectually destroyed as a ship wrecked upon the rockiest of reefs and it would still be a notable amount of time before he again found his footing.

However… he could not find in himself a whit of regret.  Not a _scintilla_ of wishing that matters were different.  He was not prepared, likely, for the breadth and depth of what his Gregory was laying at his feet and offering with the fullness of his heart, but that did not mean eschewed it, either.  Rather, he craved those gifts.  Treasured them with an intensity that was frightening, yes, but, also, enlivening.  It seemed as if he had been hibernating these long years, pupating, perhaps and, only now, feeing the rush of energy that was bringing him fully to life.  He was not young, nor vivacious, but he was _alive_ and that was a powerful feeling.

One, perhaps, he should be sharing with his Gregory this fine morning.  Sherlock said he was absent from breakfast… might the man still be abed?  It was a beastly impulse, of course, but waking his explorer with small kiss to start his day was an impulse too delicious to disregard…

__________

Drat.

      “Mycroft!  There’s a sight to start my day off properly.”

Your awake state shall be forgiven this single time, dear Gregory, to reward you for your beckoning smile and entirely unsubtle motion to close your bedroom door once I enter.

      “Perfect.  Now come here, love, and let me give you the ‘good morning’ you deserve.”

Mycroft covered the distance between himself and Lestrade in what seemed like a single leap and landed in highly welcoming arms.

      “Perfecter still.  I was a terrible lazybones so I fully understand if you umph!”

Whatever Lestrade understood was muffled by the kiss Mycroft gave him, which rose both in heat and tenderness as the initial primal want mellowed into a press of deep and abiding affection.

      “Amazing.  Never been kissed in a way that made my whole body tingle, but you make that happen with suspicious ease, Mr. Holmes.  Have you been practicing with a stable lad or something?”

      “Pish and tosh.  The very thought of horse sweat and dirt thoroughly douses my imaginary ardor.”

      “Poor boy.  Has no idea what he’s missing in his life because of those damnable horses.”

Because, in addition to everything else that made his Mycroft a boundlessly wonderful person, the majestic man had, apparently, taking a liking to kissing and, given Mycroft’s appetites for other things in his life, this was something that boded exceedingly well for the future of their intimacy.

      “Verily, though I suspect you would trounce him mightily were he to pursue me in a romantic fashion.”

      “There _would_ be trouncing.  It _would_ be mighty.”

Something that pleased Mycroft Holmes quite a bit as there was a rather unseemly joy to be taken from the mental image of his Gregory battling others who might vie for his hand.  Not that the situation was remotely likely, the vying, that is, but this was _his_ particular fairy tale and the facts would gladly fall in line to accommodate the story if they, at all, knew what was good for them.

      “Excellent.  And, if it gives you solace, I, also, have not made the most industrious showing this morning.  Mummy sent Sherlock to verify my vitality as I was absent from breakfast.”

      “HA!  Oh, that’s something I like to hear.  My Mycroft having a restful morning after a less-than-restful night.  Like to think I had a hand in a bit of that lingering in bed, but I do tend to believe all good things in life have something to do with me.”

Lestrade held Mycroft tighter to feel the full force of the man’s lovely rumbly laughter and added in a bit of his own for good measure.

      “Your ego is indefatigable, Gregory.”

      “Unlike the rest of me.  Getting old, I suppose.  Long night of dancing and romancing and I need a brace of big, strong lads to pry open my eyes in the morning.  Hope I didn’t offend your mum, though.”

      “The situation is highly unlikely, so have no worries on that score.  In truth, I suspect Mummy was greatly pleased that the household did not rise early as it further supports the success of her evening, something about which I am certain we will be reminded frequently today.”

      “As we should be!  A brilliant party is something to boast about, that much is certain.  I could use something to fill this large, empty hole in the middle of my belly, though.  Think we can find an appropriate plate of candidates to serve as a belly-filler?”

As long as I can continue to enjoy the twinkle in your eye, my dear explorer, I shall happily provide whatever you require to maintain said twinkle and in its brightest form.

      “The stable boy might have a selection of grain for you to…”

Mycroft smiled into the kiss that interrupted his silliness and marveled that this was his morning.  At Mummy’s!  If the laughter and affection they shared was this delightful while in the most tedious of surroundings, what would be the experience when they were in a more welcoming locale.  Such as… no, he dare not even think what this would be like in _his_ bedroom or there would be another crisis situation in his trousers.  There was only so many times one could tempt Fate before Gregory… or Mummy… would notice something was embarrassingly amiss and that would put quite a fatal damper on the day…

__________

      “John!  I require access to your mouth!”

John hesitated a moment, because bolting from the chair meant leaving his fresh cup of tea and that violated his morality to a punishing degree but…

      “There you are!”

Morals be damned.

      “Your legs are too short to outrun me!”

Sherlock sprinted after John, who was running as if his life depended on it, something he was unfortunately suspicious might actually be the case, and it wasn’t until a chance encounter with a particularly treacherous rug that John’s flight took a wobbly turn and allowed Sherlock a chance to pounce.

      “What are you… Sherlock!  Get off of me!”

      “I am not on you!  I am… against you.”

Something John couldn’t contest, as he was trapped in Sherlock’s long arms and being held against their owner’s tall, lean body.

      “Well… don’t be!”

      “Unavoidable, I’m afraid, as this is the proper way, I believe, to kiss you and I will not begin the physical portion of our romance with less-than-correct technique.”

      “WHAT!  Why… what is wrong with you?”

      “Nothing, for I am reassured that kissing is quite a pleasurable experience and there is nothing wrong with seeking pleasure, as long as it does not bring the death or dismemberment of the other party.”

John knew he was a physically-capable man, but Sherlock seemed to be thwarting his attempts to squirm out of the hold through sheer will power and an abundance of length in his limbs.  What had gotten into Sherlock’s head?  Oh god, there was absolutely no telling…

      “Let go of me!  So help me, Sherlock, if I have to do something rash…”

      “Oh, that does sound fun.  We may discuss it in more detail after our kiss.”

      “Boys?  Is something that matter?”

Sherlock and John turned towards the familiar voice, with John using the distraction to finally pry himself away from the kraken that had surrounded his very personal ship.

      “N…no, Mrs. Holmes.  Nothing at all.  Just a bit of silliness, that’s all.”

      “That is untrue.  There is nothing silly about kissing and I have no idea why… ow!”

Sherlock rubbed his arm where John’s punch had very satisfyingly landed and pouted his most thunderous pout.

      “That was villainous, John Watson.”

      “But entirely warranted, my dear son.  One does not kiss a wo… gentleman, if he does not desire such a thing.  It is nigh on an assault and I expect you to apologize immediately.”

John hoped a lightning bolt would strike him and lethally, at that, because he did not want to live life having his virtue defended by Sherlock’s mother.  He could do it himself, damn it all!  Though, admittedly, this was not his best showing and… oh dear god.  Sherlock’s mother.  Kissing!   She saw them… where was the fucking lightning bolt!

      “But, Mummy…”

      “ _Now_ , Sherlock, or expect the sternest of lectures and my report to Mycroft so that he enacts whatever chastisement he deems fit, as well.”

Sherlock’s put-upon sigh and rolling of the eyes surprised no one, however, John caught the tiniest glimpse of something real in Sherlock’s eyes, almost as if his mother’s original message had sunk into his skull and he was feeling a bit ashamed of himself because of it.

      “Fine!  I am most sincerely sorry, John, for attempting to share with you a smoldering, highly-enjoyable and unquestionably technically-perfect kiss and hope that you will forgive me, though you are surely regretting not taking advantage of my romantic prowess.”

      “Uh… alright.”

      “Excellent!  Now, John, let us have a stroll, shall we?  I believe you have yet to take in the grounds and the flowers are truly beginning to show their beauty.  Sherlock… be elsewhere.”

Which Sherlock was happy to do and quickly, though, not without a small squeeze of John’s hand that said infinitely more about his contrition than his ridiculous apology and John put his heart on alert that he would not stand for it’s nonsense, such as being moved by Sherlock’s genuine show of emotion.

      “He is a good boy, Doctor Watson, but entirely unversed in anything of a personal nature.  Do not tolerate his missteps of behavior, not for a moment, but do recognize them for what they are.  Now, shall we?”

That Lewis Carroll fellow had a lot to answer for, in John’s opinion, since one of the man’s infernal rabbit hole’s had opened up under his feet and there was little doubt the Wonderland it led to was not going to be a very wonderful place, not in the least…

__________

      “… and I told Lady Melsom that if she believed her roses could best mine, then I would gladly take the issue to a ballot where she would find herself utterly lacking in support.  Silly woman… she has not a single competent tending to her flowers and that much is well known in society, both high and low.”

      “I… I’m certain your flowers are fit for prizes, Mrs. Holmes.”

      “Absolutely true and I have the various rewards to prove it.  But, let us sit a moment and enjoy the sunshine.  It is a rare enough thing, even at this time of year, not to be taken to full advantage.”

Running at full pace towards freedom was a better idea in John’s opinion, but he also harbored a suspicion that the woman in the expensive dress wouldn’t hesitate to give chase and, with his luck, take him down like a rabbit chased by a fox.

      “Lovely.  Really, what a lovely day this is becoming and what a bracing night it follows!  I do hope you enjoyed the party, Doctor Watson.”

      “Oh, yes.  Very much, in fact.  It was a delightful evening.”

      “Wasn’t it just?  And you may be assured that, though Sherlock and Mycroft have no intention of ever opening their doors to anyone for the purposes of conviviality, there are social opportunities aplenty in London and here to enjoy the company of others.  Have you given thought, perhaps, to where you and Sherlock shall make your residence once you, shall we say, negotiate the particulars of your association?  Sherlock has given no consideration to the subject, but that is to be expected, since he leaves all thinking on the topic of his personal welfare and comfort to Mycroft, so I’m afraid that is likely a profession you must adopt moving forward for I wager there is little to no chance his mindset will change in the future.”

      “WE’RE NOT COURTING!”

John clenched his hands over and over as he let the wash of frustration roll through him and did his damndest not to look at the woman he’d just yelled at like a child.

      “I see.  However, I believe it is more the case that you do not wish to state such a thing plainly.  I _have_ watched you and Sherlock, Doctor… John.  He is positively screaming his conviction that you and he are well-matched, but you are reluctant to return his enthusiasm.  I do realize the special nature of the situation and am well aware that discretion and secrecy is a necessary evil with which to contend, but there is more to the picture here than a simple bit of stage play to satisfy propriety and keep you from the stocks.”

      “Why… why is everyone insistent that I’m… what’s wrong with being friends?  Is that so terrible?  I like Sherlock, I very much do, but… why does there have to be more?”

You didn’t have two sons like Sherlock and Mycroft, as well as live with their father for many years without honing your own talents for observation.  In this case, that talent led to a simple laying of one dainty hand on John’s rougher one and favoring the doctor with a sympathetic smile.

      “Who was he, John?”

John answered before thinking and immediately regretted opening his mouth.

      “I don’t want to talk… I mean… what do you mean?  I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

      “Did he hurt you?  Betray your trust in some fashion?”

Waiting while the doctor stared into space and gathered both his thoughts and his composure, the older woman squeezed his hand gently, offering what silent support she could to the man struggling with the ghosts of the past.  Ghosts he seemed very, very tired of carrying with him everywhere he went…

      “No.  Not in any sense you might be thinking.”

He knew he shouldn’t confess anything, it was far too dangerous and far too painful, but… he was finding it difficult to hold back the words now that the dam had been breached.

      “What was his name?  I suspect he was an admirable man if he caught _your_ eye.”

John’s eyes softened a bit and he nodded his agreement, the smallest trace of a smile gracing his lips.

      “James.  James Sholto.  I served with him in the Army and, yes, he was a very admirable man.  Though… not everyone thought so, at the end.”

      “The end?  Oh dear, he has passed?”

      “No, or… I really don’t know.”

Not an answer that pleased the lady of the house, but it was a start for the conversation dear Doctor Watson very much needed to have, it seemed.

      “Tell me, John.  I suspect you have been waiting a long time to tell someone this story.”

A long time?  It seemed like a lifetime…

      “If… I’ve never told another person and…”

      “Not a word shall I ever speak; you have my most sincere promise.”

And, oddly, John had full faith that was the truth.

      “Very well.  He was a great man, James was… a great soldier and a great friend.  Then… he became more.  Much more.”

      “And you were happy for it.”

      “Oh yes.  I’d never felt like that about anyone and… I suppose I thought it would last forever.  James and me having adventures then, someday, finding a quiet place to… settle.  Silly, I know, but…”

      “Nonsense.  It is, in no manner, silly to hope you will spend a contented life with the person you love.”

Love… it was a word John had pointedly avoided ever saying, but he couldn’t, in his heart of hearts, deny it was true.

      “It didn’t matter, ultimately.”

      “What happened, John?  I am coming to believe this story’s ending is still a tragic one.”

      “And you’d be correct!  For me, more for James, though.  It was… there was a group of new recruits and he led them… it wasn’t supposed to be dangerous!  Just a simple bit of looking about, but they were ambushed and…”

John felt the familiar tightening in his chest and fought it down, as he had always done, ever other time his heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice at the thought of the fateful day that fractured his life like an axe-split log.

      “… James was the only one left alive.  And not very alive, at that.  He was… his injuries were terrible and it was everything me or the other doctor in the camp could do to keep him with us.  His face… one side was… not a fit sight for a gentlewoman, some would say, and one arm was practically useless, but he lived.  Saw him to a real hospital myself and sat with him day and night until…”

It shouldn’t be this hard!  It should not be so hard to describe what happened years upon years ago, but… _shouldn’t_ didn’t make things easier.  Not at all.

      “Go on, John.”

      “Until I couldn’t anymore, though I wanted to with everything in me.  It’s what you do for people you… care about.  You stay with them, right there at their side and give them all the support and strength you can.  He needed it, too, what with the stories starting to spread.  People questioning his command, wondering why he made it out and not one other person could say the same.  There were the officers who came to ask _official_ questions, too, and that didn’t help matters.”

      “Did they… there are actions they take against people found derelict in duty, correct?”

      “They found nothing.  Proved nothing.  Didn’t matter to some, though, and… it didn’t matter to James.”

      “He blamed himself.”

      “And I made sure to tell him every time he grew black and self-hateful that _none_ of what he was thinking was true!  That I knew the man he was and that if there was a single body under creation who could have saved those men it was him.  It was working, too, I think.  He’d have some good days.  Then, bad days when I had to travel back to our camp to see about doing my own part for the Army, but I hurried back as fast as I could and started right off taking away the… the bleakness I saw in his eyes.  I told myself that, if it came to it, I’d resign my commission and stay with him, give him the care he needed.”

      “But, that did not happen.”

It had been years, but the pain was still felt as if he was taking a bullet in the heart.

      “No.  His brother arrived and decided to take James home as soon as medically possible.  It was a good decision, of course, the right one for a man in his condition, but…”

      “There was not a place for you anymore.”

      “I couldn’t even stay at hospital with him, really.  It’s one thing, an Army mate taking care of another when there was nobody else to do it, but… if we could only have _said_ something.  Told people that I wasn’t _just_ a friend, then… no, there wasn’t a place for me and I can’t say with any honesty that James made a real effort to keep me there.  I think… I think he saw this as good for me.  A chance to break away from a man with the suspicion of incompetence, or worse, hanging over his head.  I had his address, though, and wrote. Wrote letter after letter, though I saw a but handful of short notes in return.  Then, nothing.  Not another word.  I thought about visiting, but…”

      “It did not seem appropriate?”

      “That was part of it.  There was also… what if he simply didn’t want to know me anymore?  What if he’d gotten lost in his dark thoughts and never found his way out?  What if he met someone else who saw past the scarring and the stories and… and loved him for the proud and noble man he really was?  What if, what if, what if…”

      “Two of the most catastrophic and painful words in the English language.”

      “I would agree.”

      “It… it is alright, you know, to grieve for your loss.  A broken heart and the loss of loved one, even if they still walk the Earth, is not a thing easily endured or reconciled.  I somehow suspect you have not done this.”

      “I can’t say I have or haven’t, really.  It’s not something a man can talk about, in any case.”

He couldn’t even bring himself to tell Greg, despite knowing, wholeheartedly, that his friend would have shown nothing but compassion and unwavering support.

      “No, in that you are most correct.  But, I would encourage you, most strongly, to speak of this, John.  I shall happily listen, with utmost eagerness, but do you have other ears that would lend themselves to your tale?  It is good to have many directions to turn when one needs to unburden oneself.”

      “Greg.  I could talk to Greg.  I likely should have, long ago.”

      “Does he know…”

      “About my preferences?  Yes.  That’s not a worry.”

      “I knew he was a man of quality and, again, I am proved correct.  I will not suggest speaking to Sherlock at this time, however, for I feel certain you would be uncomfortable with the idea, given the juvenility of his recent behavior...”

Juvenility that would earn Sherlock another punch once he had the curly-haired bastard alone for a moment.  Maybe a thump or two on that head of his, for good measure, too.

      “… but do not discount him entirely, John.  Sherlock has a profound capacity to care, though he would rather sever his tongue with a poultry knife than admit the fact, but I do recognize he can express his caring in the most frightful and unhelpful ways, at times.  And he _does_ care about you, you may take a mother’s word for that.  Nothing will change the past for you, I _also_ recognize, and I see very clearly why you would wish to safeguard your heart after such an experience… but do not live lonely because of phantoms and those terrible ‘what ifs.’  Chances for happiness are few in this world and none of us are so young that we can afford to waste a single one.  Now, let us continue our walk, shall we?  Oh, and do take note of our bees.  Sherlock has always had an intense fascination for them and you might ask him to show you our hives, something which will delight him utterly.”

John began to understand exactly what life as a young Sherlock was like and he found himself smiling at how lucky the arrogant sod was, both then and now, because even a little support, bossy and motherly though it may be, felt… good.  He could, at minimum, say he hadn’t died from talking about James and might, just might, be able to do it again, even if it was with that ridiculous explorer who was probably still asleep because he and Mycroft hadn’t seen their beds until _long_ after the party ended, curiously (or not) taking a turn out of doors once the guests had left.  That was definitely something about which he would be inquiring at the earliest possible opportunity.  Maybe… maybe just after he’d had Sherlock show him the bees…


	23. Chapter 23

      “Oh, there you are!”

Mummy looked exceeding pleased with herself.  This did not bode well.

      “Yes, Mummy… imagine that I am to be found in the house where I was summoned by your very hand.”

      “Oh, Mycroft.  I will credit that your sense of humor recently seems to have been excavated like one of those dreadful mummies they are forever dragging back here to unwrap like a ham from the butcher, however, do realize that I am your mother and not to be bothered with the dust and soiled linens that you toss about as you try to breathe life into the creature.”

Mycroft refused to look over at Lestrade because he already knew, with perfect certainty, that the man was flashing the widest smile it was possible to make.

      “Now, now, Mrs. Holmes… Mycroft’s got a _great_ sense of humor and I, for one, appreciate the dust and soil.  One of his best qualities, in fact.  We have quite the giggle when we’re sharing a bit of brandy and a fire.  Never a lack for conversation and never a lack for a good, uplifting laugh.”

Dear Gregory, do not be so fulsome with your praise or I shall surely sport a damning color on my cheeks and reveal myself to Mummy, which will bring about a plague of locusts or, worse, the discovery of a heretofore unknown twin for Sherlock who has arrived to live under my roof.

      “It is good that you see that about my Mycroft, Gregory.  So few do and it is a tragedy that he has had a paltry number of opportunities to allow others to better know his clever wit as well as his clever mind.”

Mummy _was_ in a good mood.  This was dire.

      “Well, perhaps that will change a little.  Mycroft and I have been about in London now and again and talked to people who were interested in what he had to say.  _Very_ impressed they were and I suspect I can have him out for a good meal and a bit of music, or a tour of a museum with even greater frequency now he knows just what a scintillating individual I am.”

And, of course, wink and give Mummy a case of girlish giggles, you horrid man.  We will surely have to return here sooner than later so that Mummy can further take advantage of your gregariousness and that is certainly not to the benefit of my colon.

      “You are a caution, Gregory Lestrade, positively impish.  Now, I have some correspondence to attend, but I want to see both of you when lunch is served.  Oh, and Mycroft, you should send whatever messages you require to inform whomever it may concern that you shall be in residence here for, at the very least, a few days more.  I have already a number of requests for further opportunities to speak with Gregory about his work and various other social niceties to satisfy, so prepare to relax whether it is to your liking or not.”

Mycroft’s death rattle was not lost on the woman marching out of the room, but it was so typically her son that no remark need be made about it.  That his single friend found it amusing was further proof that her Mycroft had gained a brilliant gift from this bleak world.

      “And I suppose you’re going to blame this on me.”

      “I most certainly am, Gregory Lestrade.  If you were not incalculably interesting, socially entertaining and indescribably handsome, I would not be in the position of eternal suffering that I now occupy.”

      “Eternal?  I think you forgot what that means.”

      “Pfft.  There shall be tea!  Callers!  We may have to parade to the vicarage and pay respects!  Oh, this is agony…”

Lestrade patted Mycroft’s shoulder very stiffly and awkwardly, with full intention of being that stiff and awkward, which earned him Mycroft’s glare, then a long-suffering huff.

      “You are positively intent on ushering me into my grave, Gregory Lestrade.”

      “Nonsense, because I don’t think you’d be as good a conversationalist if you were a corpse and I do prize a bracing round of conversation.”

      “I am now rethinking my intention to invite you for a stroll to see our gardens in the daylight.”

Your lower lip is hereby prohibited from protruding in such a petulant, and endearing, manner, Mr. Lestrade.  It is inexpressibly unfair for I have no defense, not a shred, against such a thing.

      “But I _want_ to stroll.”

      “You should have thought of that before you decided to act as a progenitor of agitation.’

      “Is that what I did?  Sound terribly painful.”

      ‘It is.  Hence, the agony.”

      “Got it.  What if I promise to progenate something other than agony and agitation?”

      “Progenate is not a word.”

      “It could be.”

      “I think not.”

      “You could make it a word.”

      “I do not believe that is within my authority.”

      “You could make it within your authority.”

      “I am not omnipotent.”

      “You could make yourself omnipotent.”

Mycroft had no doubt his explorer could continue this pattern until lunch and decided that a distraction might be in order.

      “I am reconsidering my stroll to inspect the flowers and, now, find the idea to my liking.  If you wish to accompany me, I will not object.”

Lestrade smiled another wide smile and adored that Mycroft’s commanding and powerful self could be sent astray by a simple bit of foolishness and adored more that he was the only person who seemed willing to deliver a bit of foolishness to his Mycroft’s life.

      “Thank you, sir.  Very kind of you, sir.  I’ll try my best not to agitate or agonize you.”

Trying not to smile at Lestrade’s change of tone and posture to match his groveling words, Mycroft harrumphed and pointed towards the large doors that opened on one of the gardens and glared his most thunderous glare.

      “Proceed.”

Racing forward, the explorer opened the doors and bowed deeply while Mycroft regally strolled through, smirking, as well as chuckling quietly, that Lestrade head-butted him as he passed.  Was this truly his life now?  Laughter and juvenility?  Stimulation of the most diverse of forms?  Colorful, creative discussions and an all-encompassing feeling of warmth that he wore like the coziest shawl?    What had he done to merit such good fortune?  Well, whatever it was, he must remember to send to it a note of thanks.  Once, of course, they had toured the flowers…

__________

      “Hello, John.”

John had wondered how many minutes he would have to himself after re-entering the house before Sherlock pounced, and was proud that his prediction of zero was perfectly precise.

      “Hello, Sherlock.”

      “Did… did you enjoy your walk?”

      “It was lovely, thank you.”

Now, it was rather rotten to be enjoying Sherlock’s overly-polite and obvious discomfort, but he felt in the mood for a bit of rottenness right now, so this was actually fun.

      “Good.  That is… good.”

      “Yes, I think so.  We went…”

      “I am sorry, John.  I am sorry and… yes.  That.  It is what I wished to say and… I have said it.”

Hellfire and damnation… why did Sherlock have to go and do that?  Be sincere and serious about his apology and not a bastard.  Punch a hole right through the fun and be meaningful and honest?  Oh well, it wasn’t a bad change of direction, all things considered…

      “Thanks for that, Sherlock.  I do appreciate it.  Is there… why in the world did you choose that moment to… you know.”

      “Mycroft was stewing in a burbling cauldron of bliss from the kisses he shared with Lestrade and I… I supposed such a thing would be agreeable to you, too.”

John quickly checked that there were no ears in the vicinity, then let his shock show on his face.

      “They… they kissed?”

      “The reason, I presume, they took themselves away from prying eyes after the party.”

That was a development John had certainly not predicted, at least not at this particular time, but he couldn’t stop the smile that broke out on his face when he thought about the news.  Greg would be a giddy idiot about the whole business, so that was going to be a living, breathing nightmare and… oh, Mycroft.  That undone by a bit of kissing?  What is going to happen when His Giddy Majesty gets his hands on more than your fully clothed and vertical body?  No wonder Sherlock had gone off his head!  Part sibling rivalry and part… part hope that _he_ could experience something along those very blissful lines.  Infuriating scientist…

      “Well… good for them!  I know Greg’s been hopeful to move their relationship slightly more towards the physical side and it’s encouraging that Mycroft enjoyed it to that degree.”

      “The distaste of their middle-aged lust is decidedly off-putting, but… I should not have presumed, in your case, and I _am_ sorry for my actions.”

      “No, you shouldn't have presumed, but that’s over now and I’m confident this won’t be a problem again.”

      “No, it won’t.  There shall be no kissing.”

Something that didn’t exactly make John happy, much as he would have liked to say otherwise.

      “I have an idea.  Let’s agree that we don’t place any moratoriums on _anything_ at the moment and… just go about our business as before.  Along those lines, care to join me for a walk?”

Sherlock scrutinized the doctor, but couldn’t glean enough information to understand what was going on in John’s mind.  Given that, the strategy of continuing on with the previous patterns of interaction seemed most prudent and, actually, not at all disagreeable, since their previous patterns were not at all unenjoyable.  And, though it should not be as important as it was, John was not behaving as others had done when he committed some social transgression.  Not using cutting words or erecting the familiar wall of exclusion that he, before, had found himself on the wrong side of when he had said or done something incorrectly.  That was...  the feeling was difficult to articulate in any meaningful fashion, especially for something incalculably meaningful.

      “You just returned from the outside.”

      “Yes, but that’s not a reason not to have a second go.  I spend months on end out of doors, so another stroll through your grounds isn’t a hardship.  Besides, we have to leave the house to see your bee hives, don’t we?”

Heavens… Sherlock’s face lit up like a candle when he thought about the bees, didn’t it?  It was a look he wore well, if today was a day for honesty…

      “The hives?”

      “Your mother mentioned them and I’d like to have a look at them, if you’d care to show me.”

      “Yes!  I mean, if you have an interest, I would be poor host to let it stand unheeded.”

      “Of course.  I know how much stock you place in being an attentive host. Shall we, then?”

Sherlock nearly ran towards the doors and pulled up short when he realized that he’d left John behind.

      “Are you coming?”

Walking as slow as a man of ninety would be childish, so John did exactly that, making it to the door after three or four hours.

      “You are a nonsensical person, John.”

      “Good.  It’s nice to see my best qualities gaining notice.”

      “You are neither humorous nor humble.”

      “I know Greg, so it’s to be expected.”

      “Ah. Yes, you do have a point.”

      “The one on my head?”

      “Lestrade has much for which to answer.”

__________

      “Sherlock was right, you absolutely fornicated flowers in your youth.”

      “Twaddle.”

That Mycroft knew the names of every blossom they saw, and had very pointed criticism for what he perceived as laxness by the grounds staff, cemented that particular notion in Lestrade’s head and he did a small mental gig for gifting his Holmes a lovely room of plants in which to play, should the urge again arise.

      “It’s alright, you know.  Lots of those horticultural types in the world and I’m certain they’ve done their fair share of fornicating.  Probably still do.  And like it.”

A little more, Mycroft… just a little more… yes!  Pink on the cheeks!  Oh, that was the grandest sight under the stars and it was so easy to accomplish, with the right provocation…

      “How have you failed yet to be flogged for your misbehavior, Gregory?”

      “Lucky, I suppose.  Or charming.  Bit of both, probably.  Along with handsome.  Can’t forget handsome.”

Before Mycroft could groan a response, Lestrade dashed forward again, shooing away the servant about to open the door for them and did the job himself, bowing as low as the first time he’d played the part, but without the head butting since the servant was still hovering nearby.

      “You return home, finally!  I was worried Gregory had convinced you to begin a trek to Wales on foot, for I do believe it is within his powers of persuasion and sense of humor to accomplish such a feat.”

      “Thank you, Mummy.  It is a joy to end our constitutional with a sample of your own sparkling wit.”

      “I am certain it is.  Now, kindly take yourselves to your rooms and remove the traces of your exertion for our guests are expected shortly.”

No glance was needed for Lestrade to know his Holmes was wearing his most over-burdened expression.  Fortunately, he was extroverted enough for them both.

      “Guests?  Mummy, we scarcely cleared our halls of vermin and now you invite another infestation to plague our day?”

      “Do behave, Mycroft.  Your brother has already been sufficiently troublesome that I have a footman standing guard outside his door to ensure he does not overpower the valet and appear at lunch wearing naught but a nightshirt.  And not his best one, at that.”

      “I… I promised Gregory a visit to our little hamlet and…”

      “It may occur at any point during this extended visit, so kindly pack away any further excuses and find a basin of water to freshen your skin and cover that skin with a suitable selection of garments to receive our guests.  It shall be a relatively simple lunch, however, we do like to make a good impression, do we not?”

Mycroft’s muttered ‘not,’ made Lestrade laugh and his mother shake her finger in her most ferocious manner, which only made Lestrade laugh harder.

      “I’ll see we both cut dashing figures for your guests, Mrs. Holmes, don’t have a single worry about that.”

      “Again, your esteem rises, Gregory.  I have no doubt your benefactors are ever laudatory about your various interests for your dedication and degree of self-motivation are simply exemplary.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and swallowed the slightly sour taste in his mouth because that was rather florid even for Mummy.

      “Yes, Gregory is a credit to whatsoever institution engages his services.  Now, if you will excuse us, Mummy, we will make ready for your guests.”

Mycroft’s glower earned him a curious look from the explorer, but Lestrade smiled, bowed slightly to his hostess and followed Mycroft towards the stairs, waiting until they were out of range of interested ears before speaking.

      “Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

      “Already it begins.  Lunch!  With, undoubtedly, a flock of other society hens, who will coo and billow and make our meal completely intolerable!”

      “Well… maybe.  I’ll argue the intolerable part because it’s not that difficult to tolerate cooing and billowing if you’ve got a solid plate of food beneath your fork, but I’ll wager that it won’t be so difficult.  Just relax and enjoy our meal while I provide the entertainment, just as with dinner last night.”

      “Which was intolerable enough for a lifetime.”

      “Mycroft… what’s really upsetting you?  We went through this already and you can’t tell me you’re having it rise up on you again like a bad piece of fish.”

Huffing loudly as he crested the stairs to the landing, Mycroft frowned and faced Lestrade who’d happily walked slowly to stay in step with him on the way up.

      “I am not content that Mummy is using you as a pawn in her social machinations.”

      “It’s to be expected, though.  That’s what happens in society comings and goings, isn’t it?”

      “Yes, but… I find it distasteful that _you_ are the particular piece being moved on the chess board.”

      “And that’s why…”

Lestrade mouthed ‘I adore you,’ hearing the footsteps behind him and very much enjoyed the small smile he received from the recipient of his words.

      “… I’m counting on you to make certain she doesn’t barter me for a few pounds of good butter or a better pew at church.”

      “I shall do my utmost to ensure you are not exchanged for any good or service, though there is a farm in the area that offers the most exquisite fresh cheese and if that is brought to the negotiation table, I cannot guarantee your remaining on the path of life you so far have trodden.”

Wagging his own ferocious finger at the smug look on Mycroft’s face, the explorer turned and smiled at the servant who had joined them, recognizing the man as the one who had taken great care to ensure that the rough and ragged Greg Lestrade was made presentable at the Holmes family table for last night’s gathering.

      “Yes, Chalmers, isn’t it?”

      “It is, Mr. Lestrade, sir.  Madam asked me to facilitate your preparations for lunch.”

      “Oh, alright.  I promise not to be a bother about it, either.”

      “Very good, sir.  Mr. Holmes?  Your brother requested your attention for a small matter.  I shall attend you after your conversation, if that is agreeable to you.”

      “I see.  Yes, of course.  Gregory… until luncheon.”

Hoping whatever matter Sherlock wanted to discuss did not involve either cost or repair, Mycroft set off in the direction of his brother’s bedroom, leaving Lestrade to make his way towards his own to play doll and have himself dressed and groomed.  Such a strange thing, in his opinion, but Mycroft’s class of person did seem to value that sort of nonsense.  Fortunately, Mycroft himself paid that bit of business no heed, because nobody should be allowed to run hands over that sumptuous form on a regular basis unless they were attached to _his_ strong and supple wrists…

__________

      “Oh, good heavens…”

Sherlock had entirely defiled the clothing in which he had been dressed in the span of time it took the valet to walk down the corridor, which was a notable feat, even for him.

      “I will not lunch.”

      “You were the very one to inform me this morning that Mummy desired us…”

      “That was before I learned she had decided to receive guests.  John and I shall, instead, begin an experiment on the behavior of our bees, which should easily take us through to dinner when John shall demand that he be present at table to satisfy his burdensome need for food.”

      “No.  You and John will both enjoy the midday meal with the rest of Mummy’s victims, as well as her guests.”

      “You are mistaken.  Behold!  A beggar has a tidier appearance than do I and I shall summarily be banished from Mummy’s sight the moment she lays eyes upon me.”

      “The one mistaken is you, brother, for I shall insist that your emaciated frame requires not only a hearty lunch, but a bowl of nourishing gruel, such as one might serve to a child who was recovering from a dire illness.  A _large_ bowl.”

      “That is especially fiendish!”

      “True, but Mummy will undoubtedly agree with me and command you to sit, garbed as a beggar or not, and eat your meal under her watchful eye, so she might confirm you are taking steps to improve your frail and quivery health.”

      “I shall make my escape before lunch has even begun.”

      “If you do not believe I shall muster the entirety of the house and grounds staff into a hunting party to bring you to ground, then you are failing to use any of your intellectual capacity.”

Sherlock pouted grandly, which Mycroft expected, but something else also skittered across his face that made Mycroft wonder what was the real reason he had been summoned to Sherlock’s room, besides his brother’s immaturity.

      “Sherlock, I will assume you did not request my presence to pass judgement on your appearance and believe, instead, that there is a real issue of import you would like to discuss.”

Yes, that was certainly a telling look on Sherlock’s face and Mycroft lost his irritation quickly as he prepared to hear what was on the younger man’s mind.

      “I… it is no matter.”

      “No, I do not feel that is true.  I am very willing to hear your thoughts, brother, especially if I can be of help because of it.”

Mycroft waited patiently while Sherlock chewed his thumb and flitted his gaze around the room, feeling some relief when the fidgeting ended and the words began to flow.

      “When you and Lestrade… last night, who… initiated?”

The millisecond of confusion passed and Mycroft found himself suddenly highly curious as to why this trajectory of conversation had been taken.

      “Gregory.”

      “How?”

Curioser and curioser… not exactly a topic Mycroft wished to discuss, but something was bothering Sherlock, so he would be more revelatory about his intimate life than he might normally in this singular case.

      “Through a correct reading of the situation.  I… Gregory had already embraced me, spoke the most heartfelt words and gazed into my eyes… he then bestowed the gentlest of kisses, yet provided with a warmth that penetrated to my very core.  And, I subsequently initiated the next.”

      “I see.”

Now, Sherlock’s expression was both thoughtful and distressed, a combination that, from long experience, Mycroft knew signified grave tidings.

      “Sherlock?  Please, brother dear, I _do_ wish to assist, if I am able.”

      “… I attempted to kiss John.”

Oh.

      “Oh.  I take it from your behavior that the experience was not a pleasant one.”

      “I… I was, perhaps… I was not, I suppose, as insipid as Lestrade in my actions.”

A tiny light went on in Mycroft’s mind and he sighed a large, mental sigh.  Poor Sherlock, human interactions were terribly difficult for him and so very, very few were sufficiently patient to understand his brother’s particular ways and methods.

      “A touch… forceful?”

      “That is not an inapt description.”

      “Was John… is he angry with you?”

      “He was, but…

      “Go on.”

      “I apologized.  He then asked me to walk with him to see our hives and… he was most pleasant.”

Praying that none of his shock was visible on his face, Mycroft nodded slowly and made a show of ruminating on the situation.

      “Then I would award you high praise for correct thinking and taking proper action.  John, apparently, has done the same.”

The hopeful look in Sherlock’s eyes battered at Mycroft’s heart and he re-dedicated himself to carefully overseeing his brother’s romance so these sorts of missteps were as few and far between as was possible.

      “Your praise I care nothing for.”

      “Of course, brother, however, you have it in any case.  And do take heart, Sherlock, that there is little in your association with John, I feel certain, that cannot be calmed through a sincere apology and commitment not again to make the same mistake.”

This time, it was Sherlock’s turn to nod, though he attempted to camouflage his understanding with a disdainful flick of his wrist.

      “He is fortunate I am a magnanimous and humble individual.”

Coughing as his own bit of camouflage, this time for a bark of laughter, Mycroft smiled indulgently at Sherlock who was not fooled in the slightest, but took as his own victory the impact of his, decidedly rapier-sharp, sense of humor.

      “Most certainly.  A fortunate man, indeed, and one with whom you may happily converse while we enjoy our repast.  You might wish to remove the… is that candle wax… from your jacket and brush the pillow feathers from your trousers before you present yourself or your humility might suffer some degree of injury.”

The rude noise that serenaded Mycroft as he turned and left the bedroom truly was music to the elder Holmes’s ears because it reconfirmed that Sherlock was… righted.  A word in Gregory’s ear might be prudent, however, so he could assess the situation for John.  It was the duty of the elders to safeguard the younger generation, though John would certainly balk at the concept.  However, that about which John was not entirely aware, certainly could not hurt the good doctor…

__________

      “Much better!  What a handsome set of garments you brought, Mycroft.  It is as if you, or Mrs. Hudson, actually put thought into presenting not only a respectable presentation, but an eye-pleasing one, as well.”

The only eyes about which I have a care, Mummy, are Gregory’s and if he happens to find certain colors and fabrics especially pleasing when worn on my frame, then who am I do deny him that bit of viewing pleasure?

      “I am certain I have no idea to what you are referring, for these are simply average specimens from my wardrobe.”

      “Pish and tosh.  Were you…”

Mycroft leaned down to obey his mother’s ‘come closer’ gesture and waited for her to look around to ensure they were alone.

      “Were you hoping to make a good impression for Sherlock’s Doctor Watson?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes and stood back straight, continuing to favor his mother with a pointed look.

      “I believe little I will or will not do would have any impact on their… situation.”

      “Incorrect.  Why would a self-respecting man consent to join a family of vagabonds and dollymops!”

      “Mummy!  How vulgar…”

      “It is, isn’t it.  I find myself quite enlivened and free-spirited with such a gathering of personalities under this roof.  I may take an extra sherry this evening after dinner, or earlier, I am so infused with the bohemian spirit.”

And whatever encouraged Mummy to her sherry was certainly to be, itself, encouraged, at least to her mind, and that was further proof he was to be ordered to visit, with his current retinue, at a frequency that was horrifying to contemplate.

      “How delightful for you.  I, now, intend on joining Gregory in a quiet location for a bit of reading, so if you choose to entertain the household with song and dance, please do try to do so at a polite volume so as not to disturb us.”

      “There is your humor, again.  I see I am not the only one experiencing a burst of _joie de vivre_.”

      “The extent of what I currently experience is limited to a desire for a good meal and a glass of acceptable wine.  Might I see such things before the afternoon has passed?”

      “So impatient, but that has ever been your way when denied access to the larders for too long a time.  Why do you not see if something has been laid out for you to sample before we formally begin?  I expect Mrs. Hapsworth and Violet to arrive any moment, so your wait for something more substantial should not be a lengthy one.”

      “Any moment?  Oh dear heavens… And Mrs. Hapsworth?  Isn’t she… oh, I have no idea.”

      “Nor should you.  However, your ideas are not relevant today.  Go and affect your own measure of exploring, but remain in the vicinity for the call to table.”

Mycroft scrutinized his mother, but, as always, was confounded by her inscrutability and decided a pre-luncheon nibble was a far more pleasing thing that… the lack of one.  However, Mummy’s exuberance would certainly have to be monitored to forestall any turns towards post-luncheon atrocities, such as carriage rides or games of any form.  Poetry recitations were also officially disallowed from this point forward.  Oh dear… must monitor Gregory, also, for he would certainly offer support to any prohibited frivolity.  Hopefully, the pre-luncheon selection of edibles was notably hearty, for this could easily become a very energy-intensive afternoon of entertaining and his storehouses were woefully depleted…

__________

      “Painting, you say?  Dear me, Violet, what a laudable talent to possess. Don’t you agree, Gregory?”

John kicked Sherlock so he discontinued his purposeful slide under the table, though he was doing it purely to prevent any scolding once the guests were gone.  Given his druthers, John would be sliding right along with the lanky scientist, then scuttling off for something more vigorous to do.  This was crippling!  Amusing, but crippling…

      “Absolutely!  I can scarcely draw a tree and not have it called a hand and arm, so I envy anyone with artistic blood.”

      “Gregory, your ability with a pencil is certainly not that deplorable.  I have seen your work, if you remember, as has Sherlock, and we both were impressed by the technical quality as well as the artistic flourishes which enhanced the appeal of your subjects.”

      “Thank you, Mycroft, my son.  Now, why do you not have an additional serving of potatoes, while I continue my conversation with Gregory.  Violet also has an ear for music, I believe, is that not the case Florence?”

      “She does, Millicent, a trained ear, at that, though she is, of course, far too modest to mention it herself.”

      “Naturally.  Modesty is a trait quite becoming in a woman, is that not the case, Gregory?”

      “I can’t say being overly boastful does any person, man or woman, a great deal of good, but I also believe one should be truthful about matters.  If you’re good at something, then it’s fine to be honest about it!  Nothing wrong with letting the world know when you’ve had a bit of luck or have a natural talent.  I make a living off of that, actually!”

      “Your capering and japery are the scourge of London, Lestrade, and if there is not already circulating a petition to see you exiled from the city, I shall be most surprised.”

      “Do share the potatoes with your brother, Sherlock, and choose a particularly large one to wedge in your mouth for the time being.  Speaking, however, of London, did you not tell me, Florence, that Violet is most hopeful to have a home in the city at some point?  Such a talented girl would make a remarkable hostess in London society and, I have little doubt, be most coveted as a guest in the homes of the social elite.”

      “Indubitably, Millicent.  I would envision any man whose interests lie in London being benefitted greatly by someone of Violet’s qualities and attributes...”

Mycroft’s stomach was burning at an increasingly rapid rate and that fouled his mood for more than a single reason.

      “… and my Violet is unquestionably a girl with a practical mind and devotion to keeping a properly run home.”

      “Very admirable.  Is that not a truly admirable thing, Gregory?”

This time it was John motioning a servant to bring the potatoes, because if he didn’t, he’d burst out laughing and that could cost him whatever sweet treat might wait at the end of their meal, because that’s what mothers did when you misbehaved at table.

      “I’m always one to support practicality, Mrs. Hapsworth.  It’s important to dream and be creative, but a solid nod to the practical is what keeps a body out of a workhouse.”

      “Ever so prudent, Mr. Lestrade.  We should always strive for balance in everything and Violet is nothing if not a balanced young woman.”

The twin nodding by the mothers was underscored by the shy smile from the auction item in question and Lestrade smiled, in return, the non-committing, affable smile he used when he found himself in these situations, which was far more often than the glowering man across the table would ever know about, else their romantic harmony might not be quite so harmonious for anyone’s liking…

__________

If there was ever a more eclectic gathering of individuals in one room, Lestrade wasn’t sure he’d ever seen it.  John was beaming with happiness because he was a hateful leprechaun and thought the matchmaking attempt was simply hysterical, Sherlock was quivering with desire to be anywhere else in the world but sipping sherry with people he had already suffered for an entire luncheon and Mycroft seemed as if he was contemplating how easily he could declare this house and grounds an unfriendly foreign land so that he could have political reason not to ever set foot here again.  Really, you couldn’t buy this amount of fun, no matter the size of your bank accounts.  It was almost a shame today’s hopeful bride and her mother had left, because there couldn’t be enough of stage-worthy performances in this region to want to miss even a single one.

      “What a delight! It is ever a joy to welcome such scintillating guests, especially when one can toast the moment with a fine glass of sherry.  And it was a _most_ successful introduction to young Violet, wouldn’t you say, Gregory?”

That was a growl.  Mycroft growled at his mother!  His poised, refined Mycroft growled at his own mother.  Fortunately, it was a quiet growl and so low in pitch that only someone with sensitive hearing would notice, like a highly-successful explorer, so dear Mycroft wasn’t being sent to his room or bent over a motherly knee for a bit of discipline.  Or over the butler’s knee, since wealthy widowed women didn’t seem the type to actually provide evil-behaving bums with their well-deserved smack.

      “Always happy to meet new people!  It’s one of the benefits of the work I do that I get to meet scads of new and interesting people.  Everyone with a tale to tell, a lesson to teach, a laugh to give… it’s a satisfying experience and one I do treasure.”

Perfect!  Another adorable growl from his lovely man and Sherlock was trying to strangle himself with the draperies.  Make the effort to look for the entertainment in every situation… certainly one his most important mottos.

      “Exactly!  Oh, Gregory… you are a prize of a man and I know, without question, Cordelia and her Gertrude with agree wholeheartedly!”

      “Pardon?”

      “Oh, they shall be paying a call later this afternoon.  Gertrude is a widow, the poor thing, and her father is terribly unsure what to do with the rather extensive properties left to her son, which he currently manages.  Young Theodore is positively a stellar child, well-mannered, sweet-tempered, but a most rambunctious lad when the mood strikes him.  The perfect son for a robust and vigorous man.”

      “Gertrude Mainwaring has the personality of a syphilitic fishwife and her son is an odious child, sporting nearly Mycroft’s girth and fully his plodding tedium!  Her husband drowned when his ship, on which he was sailing to America with all of his worldly possessions to place an ocean between himself and the drudgery of his cursed life, was sunk by blessed pity taken upon him by one of the vast pantheon of gods who govern the Earth’s various bodies of water, for Gertrude’s harridan of a mother would surely have tracked down the damned soul and dragged him back to England!”

      “Your summary is as colorful as it is inaccurate, Sherlock, and I have no doubt Gregory will see the truth of that when we have tea with our guests.  And, do plan for a busy morning, tomorrow, as Lady Trumble, as well as her Martha and Sylvia, will pay a call after breakfast so that we might see the results of her lovely daughters’ latest efforts with needlecraft!  I am certain you recognize the value of such artistry, Gre… MYCROFT!  Whatever has come over you?  You are appallingly fumble-fingered and that sherry stain will never come out of the rug!  And, do not think for a moment I do not know the perpetrator of the murder of my crystal last evening, for only you take whisky in those particular glasses and its remains were not as thoroughly hidden as you hoped they were!”

Lestrade started to giggle at his paramour then stopped seeing the look in Mycroft’s eyes, which was a sickening combination of distress, worry, doubt and, worst of all, tinged with a touch of shame that launched the explorer out of his chair.  This wasn’t funny, it wasn’t funny, at all.

Sitting on the arm of Mycroft’s chair, Lestrade smiled down at the man who lit his life with the brightest of lights and felt his heart clench once more at the pain in the eyes now looking up at him.

      “I’m certain the needlework will be very impressive, Mrs. Holmes, and we’ll try to be here tomorrow morning to see it, but I did promise Mycroft that he could show me the village nearby and a fellow can’t break promises to the person he’s courting now, can he?  That would be monstrously unchivalrous.”

Laying a kiss on Mycroft’s head, Lestrade reached down and took the hand of the person now shaking like a leaf, gave it a kiss, too, then locked gazes with Mycroft’s mother, who had turned bone white.

      “So, we’ll be here if we can, but if not, I’m sure you understand.”

It was multiple males leaping from their seats as Mummy toppled over on the settee and it took several moments of hand patting and a quickly-obtained cool compress to bring her back around to reality.

      “My… Mycroft?”

      “Yes, Mummy.  Please relax and do not strain yourself.”

      “You… you…”

      “I know you are shocked, Mummy and… and I understand if…”

      “YOU ARE COURTING THE RENOWN EXPLORER GREGORY LESTRADE AND YOU FAILED TO INFORM ME!”

Now, it was multiple males leaping _back_ as Mycroft’s mother began beating him mercilessly with the settee cushion.

      “Mummy!”

      “You horrid boy!  How dare you withhold this news from me?  And how under God’s blue heaven did you attract someone as worthwhile as Gregory!  Oh… “

The pummeling ended with an especially hard flourish and Lestrade found himself with an elegant, enraged woman giving him a hug that would have crushed the ribs of a less fit man.

      “And you, you especially horrid boy… you will never again, not a single time, keep secrets from your Mummy.”

Lestrade returned the hug fully and looked over at his slowly-recomposing Mycroft to offer his most encouraging, and loving, smile.

      “I promise I won’t, but you know Mycroft and I aren’t and can’t be married.”

      “Pfft… a formality.  Besides, I _do_ know my son.  If he has entered into something as romantic and uncharacteristic as a courtship, it is solely because he has found the person with whom he wishes nothing more than to spend the remainder of his life, so I shall consider you my son-in-law from this point forward and that is the very end of the discussion.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to protest, but Lestrade’s tiny grin and ‘don’t bother’ head shake kept his comments to himself.  In any case, it was rather difficult to speak with the heavy lump that had formed in his throat.  He had begun, rather humiliatingly, to worry… to doubt.  Gregory could have a fantastically successful life… and marriage… that would bring him further respect in society and, perhaps, substantial wealth, especially if Mummy’s matchmaking was as successful as she was determined it be.  His life could be easier, more open… more honest… but he chose to care for someone who could _never_ be presented as the person who shared his heart.  That was a truth of such profundity that it defied his extensive vocabulary to describe properly, though he held fast to it, nonetheless.

      “Discussion ended!  Don’t want this extremely attractive hair of mine mussed by a good thrashing with a cushion because I was being cheeky.”

While his mother laughed, Mycroft finally joined the embracing pair and laid his hand on Lestrade’s shoulder, finally smiling as his mother grabbed his arm and squeezed tightly.

      “I am so happy for you, Mycroft.  I had truly despaired your seed would turn to dust before it could be sown, but I can lay that worry to rest, though the ground onto which it shall be spread is a barren one, indeed.”

      “MUMMY!”

      “Did you know, Gregory, that Mycroft was born with the soul of an octogenarian spinster?  Well, now you do, so be forewarned that you shall surely have to take charge of the more… intimate… areas of your association.  I do suspect, however, that he has a rather deep well of untapped passion and once it has been released… you shall be an extremely lucky man.”

While Mycroft turned as red as summer cherry, Lestrade grinned widely and not only because he already considered himself an extremely lucky man.  Leaning over to place a small kiss on Mycroft’s flushed cheek, he accepted his new ally’s excited gasp as happy approval and did it again to bring a touch of a smile to his Mycroft’s lips.

      “Oh… I am simply overjoyed!  I would never have dreamed you had a taste for the masculine, but I am positively thrilled that the masculine individual you have chosen is Mycroft.  Sherlock!  Your brother is courting!  Won’t Gregory be a simply stellar addition to our family?”

      “No.”

      “Balderdash!  You are simply being petulant and… Doctor Watson!  See to Sherlock’s petulance, won’t you?  It is far too late to forestall Cordelia and Gertrude’s arrival and having Sherlock in an agonizing temper will only add insult to injury.  Do you ride?  Oh, of course you do, what with taking yourself to the ends of the Earth and whatnot.  Take a pair of horses out for an hour or so and see that Sherlock is astride one of them.  He is generally soothed with a bit of gentle jostling, at least, he was when he was an infant, which he still _is_ in temperament, so the principle likely remains sound.  We shall remain here and celebrate this jubilant occasion with a good deal more sherry and… I believe it is time to take my chocolates out of hiding for our indulgence.  I shall save Sherlock and you a few for when you return.”

Thankful for the dismissal, John grabbed Sherlock’s hand, unmindful of any… implications… and dragged him out of the room where the atmosphere was absolutely about to become embarrassing, though… his idiotic friend looked as happy as he had ever seen him and that was a very fine thing, indeed.  Good for Greg finally finding what he had been seeking and not having it kicked away by a disapproving family.  And… it was more confirmation that if, _if_ , he pushed ahead with Sherlock, there would be support for it every step of the way.

      “And there they go.  John’s very confident on a horse, I can tell you, so he’ll keep an eye out that Sherlock’s petulance doesn’t upset his mount and have him spilling onto the ground.”

      “Already you know my Sherlock and his ways, Gregory.  I could not be gladder for this turn of events, as most individuals would race from Mycroft, if only to put distance between themselves and Sherlock’s special nature, but you show understanding and, dare I say, affection for my youngest.  How you have presented me such an exemplary candidate for your hand, Mycroft, shall forever remain a mystery, however, I am not one to scorn mysteries when they bring such a wealth of benefits.  Do pour Gregory and I another sherry, if you will, while we chat.  We do have so much to talk about, do we not?”

Mycroft looked heavenward for relief of his life’s burdens, but shivered slightly as Lestrade ran a hand up and down his back.  Such open affection, given in his mother’s home, under his mother’s eyes… the bliss could not be overstated.  Mummy’s meddling, of course, could _also_ not be overstated, but that was a concern for another time.  At _this_ time, he could be as any man with a suitor on his arm.  A handsome and highly desirable suitor, at that.  And… who would again, today, be in the sights of what could only be termed a competitor.  Oh dear, perhaps two sherries were called for.  And chocolate.  A veritable bounty of chocolate…


	24. Chapter 24

Watching his Gregory perform as genially with the second matchmaking endeavor as the first, Mycroft used his much-clearer head to notice the generically-affable demeanor of his paramour and, grudgingly, admired the explorer’s ability to make their guests feel respected and valued while making no committing or definitive remarks that could later be used to give evidence for anything other than a cordial afternoon of tea and conversation.  It was still a torturous experience, but… it was more tolerable, by leaps and bounds, than with the earlier attack on his dear Gregory’s bachelorhood.

Then, it was, finally, a delicious bit of time reading, accompanied by the man who had declared himself so grandly to Mummy, followed by an evening meal that bore traces of Mummy demanding a feast be prepared, most certainly, to celebrate his and Gregory’s announcement.  Lastly, it was the tremendous entertainment of more stories from Gregory and John about their travels, which lasted well into the night, until the last vestiges of energy was sapped from even the hardiest of them and it was time to take to their beds and prepare for a fresh day.  One blessedly free, given Mummy’s flurry of messages that left the house on swift wings before dinner, of any marriage-minded visitors and, hopefully visitors of any form.

      “You’re smiling, Mycroft.  Looks good on you.”

Mycroft cast eyes over to the man who had escorted him up the stairs and now stood at the entrance to his bedchamber with an air that said the explorer would happily stand there until morning so no pestiferous influences, such as Sherlock, disturbed the rest of the person sleeping therein.

      “Thank you, Gregory.  I shall wear it proudly, then.”

For you are wholly the reason for its existence.

      “I think I need to do a check of your bedroom before I leave you for the night, though.  Could be all sorts of evil things under the bed or sitting on the window sill that I need to dispatch before you can have a good night’s rest.”

The scampishness was exceedingly scampish tonight, it seemed…

      “I _would_ hate to find my sleep disturbed by some form of ghost or goblin that may be lurking within.”

      “Alright, then.  Stay behind me in case something leaps out.”

Mycroft smirked at the falsely-serious expression on Lestrade’s face, as the explorer took point walking into the bedroom, making a dramatic show of moving slowly and carefully, looking this way and that and, yes, checking under the bed for anything more dastardly than a chamberpot.

      “I think it’s safe, love.”

Safe in more ways than one, given the appearance of Mycroft’s much-adored affectionate name.

      “I bow to your expertise in such matters, my dear.  There certainly are benefits to being courted by an explorer.”

Such as the scandalously-wicked smile with which you are gifting me as you stalk forward, much like a tiger through the grass.

      “Oh, there are.  Scads of them.  In fact, I’m of a mind to indulge in one of them now.”

Taking Mycroft in his arms, Lestrade fell into a welcoming kiss, slowly building the heat, before gently pressing with his tongue to get Mycroft’s lips to part, so he could explore more deeply.

      “GREGORY!”

      “Hmmm?”

      “You…”

      “That I did.”

      “That’s…”

      “I quite agree.”

Not that Lestrade had any idea what he was agreeing to, but the vibrant red of his Mycroft’s face said it must be something deliciously naughty.

      “That… it is not done.”

      “And what authority on the subject are you quoting, Mr. Holmes?”

      “I… it is indecent.”

      “Uh…no.”

      “You cannot deny the… obscenity of such a thing.”

      “I can and will.  Besides, you liked it.”

      “I… that is entirely irrelevant.”

      “No, actually, it’s the only relevant thing, in my opinion.”

      “We… there are standards!”

      “Really?  Want to show me where they’re written down so I can have a look?”

Mycroft sputtered in the most adorable manner, in Lestrade’s opinion, but he maintained his haughty expression so Mycroft had all the fuel he needed for his small fit.

      “Thought so.  There aren’t any rules, love, at least, not to my mind, beyond one.  That’s the rule that you do what feels good and you enjoy, but the other person has to enjoy it, too.  If not, then, that’s the end of it.  It’s not as if anyone will know besides us, anyway.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes, only to have them met by Lestrade’s large and far-from-innocent ones, and felt something creep into his bones that felt strangely like amusement.

      “You trade heavily on your beauty and roguishness, Gregory Lestrade.”

      “Good explorer uses all his assets and attributes, Mycroft Holmes.  For example, I know that my rather spectacular assets and attributes are now drawing you in for a bit more kissing, and with a touch of tongue added for extra spice.”

Did you just show me the tip of your tongue in the most lascivious manner, Gregory?  That was a challenge.  Evil man.  However… my nethers did experience somewhat of a… surge… when you committed your atrocity upon my person.  That did bear investigation, purely for intellectual interest, of course.

Making his most disapproving expression, which, in turn, made Lestrade grin harder, Mycroft leaned in and pressed a kiss to the explorer’s lips, letting the sensations wash over him and gasping softly when Lestrade’s tongue slowly entered his mouth, deepening their kiss to a level of intimacy that had the aforementioned nethers surging sharply and he moaned his appreciation with a volume that would have humiliated him thoroughly, if he’d had enough awareness left to notice such a thing.

      “Gr… Gregory…”

      “Ummm… so perfect.  So utterly perfect.  Now, how about we do that again and you show me what you’ve learned.”

Not a heartbeat passed before Mycroft was kissing Lestrade as if his very life depended on it, though his initial explorations were so tentative and gentle that Lestrade’s own fires soared, only partly from the knowledge that he was the only one this majestic man had ever treated in this fashion.  When Mycroft’s tongue finally slid fully into his mouth, there was a second moan sounding the room, equally needy and aroused as the first.

      “Is there a limit for your talents, Mycroft?  Any at all?  So wonderful…”

This new kiss had no rules, no kisser and kissed, simply a melding of two people following their hearts and desires to grow the greatest pleasure from the small seed that had been planted.  And that pleasure was allowed to grow until both men had substantial worries about where the throbbing in their trousers was going to lead, perhaps, before one of them was entirely ready to follow and they, reluctantly, broke their embrace.

      “Oh, my dear… my dearest, dearest Gregory…”

Lestrade ran a hand up Mycroft’s arm to feel the flushed skin of his neck and took a moment to caress his Holmes to a more heart-friendly state of calm.

      “No rules, love, just what makes us happy.  Now, I’d better leave before the servants start to wonder what two gentlemen are up to in here.  They’d be right in their assumptions, of course, but that’s our business and certainly not theirs.”

Mycroft nodded, having little in him to properly articulate a response and enjoyed one final, tender kiss from his explorer before Lestrade squeezed his hand and left the room, stopping at the door only to turn and favor Mycroft with his brightest, most adoring smile, then closing it behind him and leaving Mycroft with his thoughts.

Which were… chaotic.  Wild with abandon.  Such intimacy, so great a sharing… it was beyond belief!  He had thought a simple kiss was sufficiently decadent, however… oh this changed wildly his calculations.  Already he thought he had reached indescribable heights of ecstasy, but… that was foolishness.  And this was still kissing!  Which was… well, even _he_ was aware that there were delights that lived beyond this particular realm, though he had only a hazy outline of what they might be, and… oh dear heavens.  

Feeling unchecked relief that the morning’s fugue state was not staging to make a repeat performance, Mycroft slowly began to make ready for bed, not admitting to taking stock of his physical offerings, as he donned his nightshirt, though it was, in no manner, a certainty that they would ever be on display.  It was not unheard of for men to be seen without shirts, under certain, specific circumstances, of course.  But, when partaking of intimacy, did they… were they… unclothed?  He had heard mumbled grumblings among certain of his colleague that they expected to die before seeing their wives in anything other than a league of clothing, despite having given said wife a full half-dozen children to birth.  Truly he had little idea about the general state of… disrobing… a couple, especially one joined through devotion and passion, might enjoy in their intimate behaviors, but the issue was not one he could ignore.

Especially… why did his anatomy misbehave at truly the most inconvenient times?  It was time to rest not to… endure an agitation.  Not that he could begrudge his… member… it’s excitement, given the source of its eagerness was Gregory, but this was simply not the time for such a thing.  Positively unsporting of it, actually.  And positively unsporting of his temperature to rise to a disagreeable degree, as well.  Perhaps he should institute a rule that ruminating upon naked intimacy with Gregory was not allowed before taking to bed.

Of course, _considering_ his rule had, once again, infused his blood with some form of miniscule glowing coals and his agitation was cheering in the most insolent manner.  The bedsheets would surely conspire with the dastardly thing, blackguards that they were.  As would the blanket, adding weight to the… rubbing.  Did other men suffer such vexation?  Carnal conspiracy from their bed linens?

Doing something he did not precisely avoid during normal bed preparations, but… sidestepped… with some pointed intent, Mycroft turned and viewed himself fully in the floor mirror in the corner of his bedroom.  Oh dear… the agitation was certainly ruining the lines of his nightshirt.  Gregory would undoubtedly have some comment to make if he took to their shared bed appearing… thusly.  And if he was… oh dear heavens… what if he _was_ unclothed, for that was how they celebrated the depth of their affection?  NO!  The agitation does not have permission to… twitch.  Not done.  This was England, for heaven’s sake.

However…

Doing something he had _absolutely_ avoided for the sensible and proper reason of decency, Mycroft slowly lifted the front of his nightshirt and… looked at this new image in the mirror.

Well… if one was so inclined, one could use the term… proud… to describe the appearance and behavior of the agitation.  It certainly did not shirk its responsibilities.  If only half the workforce in the nation had this degree of eagerness and sense of purpose, they would dine on fine china every night!  And… should he?  It was in no manner acceptable, but… perhaps only a small check…

There were bars in prisons not so rigid!  The agitation could be used as a combat weapon!  And… a dashed impressive weapon, at that!  Long and mighty… all enemies would quake in fear should this be waved at them with threatening intent.

Of course… Gregory was _not_ an enemy.  Could the aggressiveness of the agitation be considered… beckoning?  A sign of anticipation like a robust stamen swaying with a come-hither motion to a passing bee?  Yes, that was the truth of it…  his dearest explorer would know that _he_ was the impetus for this fine and noble agitation and… well, that would surely prompt an increase in Gregory’s own carnal passion.  Bolstering his own agitation!  It was a self-sustaining cycle of debauchery!

But, maybe there was nothing wrong with that.  Considering it fully… no, there was _not_.  Let it be decreed that, in the privacy of their bedchamber, the visual presentation of mutual agitations was absolutely permissible.  Desirable, even!  Why should it be wrong to admire what nature had duly given them, especially… especially when it was _this_ pleasing to the eye.

Taking another moment to look fondly upon the gift he would someday give his Gregory, Mycroft finally let his nightshirt down and settled into bed, daring the linens and blanket to do their worst.  His agitation would thwart their feeble attempts to discombobulate his rest.  Mycroft Holmes had spoken and that, as they say, was that.  And, tonight, he had full confidence that his dreams would be nothing but sweet…

__________

Blast!  After a night of enjoying the most pleasant, as commanded, of dreams, and waking with an uncharacteristic feeling of exuberance, it should have been expected that something would fall from the skies to darken his day.

      “Problem, Mycroft?”

Now that you are here, Gregory… no.   And, yes, I am easily interpreting the true greeting you are giving me with your lovely eyes as you take your seat for breakfast, which the hovering servants have no ability to decipher.

      “A cable arrived, I’m afraid.”

      “Back to London?”

      “No, nothing so dire, however, I will be receiving several visitors this morning with whom I must speak.  I am very sorry, but I shall not be available to you until after they depart.”

      “Oh, that’s not so terrible.  I’m very used to keeping myself amused and with far less than what’s available for mischief here.  Oh, and I saw John before coming down the stairs and it seems he and Sherlock have plans for the day to be as far away from this house and your mother as is humanly possible.  Something about the scientific merit of dirt or… I didn’t follow it and I’m not certain John did, either, but as long as it gets him out in the fresh air and away from the Inquisition, I think he’s happy.”

The servants shared a startled glance as the listened to Mycroft laugh and tentatively hoped that Mr. Lestrade would visit with some frequency and Mr. Holmes dour nature really did not suit Mrs. Holmes rather lively household.

      “I expect he would be.  Mummy is terribly curious about him and you, both, and has no reservation demanding a recitation of every detail of your adventures and personal history so that she might drop them liberally into conversation, cementing to all who listen that she is your bosom friend and not a single other person in her rather expansive social circle can claim a pair of explorers in their cadre of acquaintances.”

      “There, again, is your sense of humor, my darling son.  Please hide it under plate where it might be squashed when you are provided with your morning sausages.”

Yes, Gregory, do laugh at your mater and earn favor.  It is strikingly clear how the ranking order of sons is being established in the family…

      “Mycroft needs gentle handling this morning, Mrs. Holmes.  Got a cable from London.”

      “If this is going to impede my plans for your visit, I shall not be content, Mycroft.”

His mother’s glare was truly becoming ferocious as she aged and added a few lines around her eyes to point at the flame they contained.

      “Only to the point where I shall receive visitors in… roughly an hour… and be closeted with them for what might be the remainder of the morning, into the afternoon.”

      “Pooh.  Very well, I suppose it could be worse.  However, I shall have my own matters to attend this morning and Gregory… whatever shall we find to amuse you?”

      “Actually, I was just telling Mycroft that I’ve a practiced hand at keeping myself entertained and I have no doubt I won’t be bored for an instant.  Do a little exploring, perhaps.  I’ve seen some of your lovely grounds, but Mycroft mentioned they’re rather extensive, in truth, and I’d enjoy roaming about seeing what there is to offer.”

      “What a stellar idea!  And do make full use of our horses for your exploration.  I shall instruct the kitchen to prepare something to take with you while you ramble amongst the grasses.”

      “See?  Already I’ve a plan for the day and a brilliant one, at that.  Might even run across John and Sherlock since they’ll be off doing something similar.  Though with more science.”

      “Yes, respects were paid nearly the moment I laid foot upon rug near the foot of the stairs.  They have already fled the house with the ghastliest of clothing and a selection of sacks and tools.  I have full faith that any other humans coming upon them will believe them vagabonds and immediately notify the constable.  Young Richard is a dear lad, but he does appreciate his naps and certainly won’t be pleased having one interrupted to chase off Sherlock and Doctor Watson.”

      “It wouldn’t be completely without interest, because Sherlock would certainly use his mouth to add to their reputation, and not in a good way, so I suspect your constable could find a good range of charges to add in, like general unpleasantness towards a man of the law or standing on too many flowers at a single time, and they could spend a night or so in jail.  That would give the constable a little excitement and us a bit of quiet.  Actually, I can’t see anything wrong with this plan.”

Mycroft smirked at Lestrade’s analysis and wondered if a small contribution of the upkeep of the local constabulary could make such a thing occur.  At least Sherlock and John would have each other for company as they languished in their cells.

      “Oh, Gregory… you are too clever for your own good.  Now, do fill your plate well as, it seems, you shall need a wellspring of fortification for your day.  Mycroft… oh, do the same for I know very well how draining the grey-faced from London can be when they come calling.  In fact, eat especially heartily of the bread for the honey is ours and I find this particular set of jars to be particularly floral.”

And no mention would be made of the fact that she had actually harbored a quiet, resigned dread that her son would _become_ one of those grey-faced men who seemed to take no joy from anything in life and began, eventually, to _drain_ the joy of life wherever they went and from whomever they met.  Now, she could lay that worry to rest and concentrate on seeing him set for maintaining the incredible situation in which had found himself.  Gregory was… she would wager a full ten guineas that her Mycroft would learn some very interesting facts about human behavior, _nighttime_ human behavior, before she next paid a visit to London.  It was clear that he was still a bit… innocent about certain things… but that was poised to change and what a delight that was.  Yes, it was time to take a more active role in the comings and goings of London and wouldn’t her son and his beloved be happy to entertain her in their household.  This was going to be fun…

__________

      “Mummy?  Have you knowledge of Gregory’s whereabouts?”

Mycroft’s head ached with some ferocity as his brain had been tasked to leap from his skull a number of times and take a cudgel to the idiots who had arrived with sheets of documents, all of which appeared to be scripted by some form of monkey, so inane were the ramblings.  Being unable to find his dearest for help soothing his pain was not making the situation a happier one.

      “He is doing precisely as he stated, I believe.  Exploring. I do know he took one of the horses and proper refreshments, but did not indicate, to my awareness when he planned to return.  He does not seem one to regiment his life according to a pocket watch.”

No, and the one Gregory did possess was nothing less than battered.  Perhaps that would be an appropriate gift… one to celebrate their status and the blessing Mummy had bestowed?  Yes, that was not an altogether ludicrous idea…

      “Do not purchase for him a pocket watch, Mycroft.”

He is not your paramour, Mummy.

      “Whyever not?  His scarcely meets the definition.”

      “Because, as you know, a watch can have significant meaning to the owner, perhaps an heirloom or somesuch.  He may have no desire to part with it.”

Mycroft’s irritated snarl was exactly the sort he made when he’d been trumped and his mother beamed with satisfaction at scoring the point.

      “Also… do not forget that Gregory is a proud man and would not likely take kindly to being presented a wealth of gifts, which he cannot easily reciprocate.”

Mycroft’s snarl intensified and he added the disgruntled harrumph that was just as adorable now as it had been when he was a boy.

      “Once you and Gregory share a home and have a more, shall we say, fluid set of accounts, the situation will be different, however… oh dear, what have I said now?”

For Mycroft’s face had taken a turn towards mournful thoughtfulness and that certainly did not bode well.

      “Nothing.”

      “Mycroft…”

      “It is… I have no idea if or when Gregory would consent to such a thing.  And… I also have no idea if it is at all wise, given… well, you are not unaware of the danger.  I have full faith that Mrs. Hudson shall ensure what staff we possess is fully aware what will become of them should it be found they are telling tales outside our walls, but… it is a terrible risk, Mummy and that is not something we can ever, not for a moment, ignore or take lightly.”

Having his hand patted by his mother shouldn’t have been so comforting, but Mycroft found he didn’t have the inclination to bring the show of affection to an abbreviated end.

      “Well said, my son, and I, also, will never ignore or take lightly the truth of what circles you and Gregory, waiting for any breach of your secrets.  But, you possess the most formidable mind in all of England and Gregory is certainly not an imbecile so I have complete confidence you shall navigate these treacherous waters with supreme success.”

He was far too old to crave greatly his mother’s approval, however… this visit was doing more to reassure him that Mummy _did_ approve than anything else in the past… years.

      “Thank you, Mummy.  I do appreciate that.”

      “What a good boy you can be, Mycroft.  Now, I would suggest taking the small carriage and beginning a quest for your intrepid explorer.  The man could be in Ireland, for heaven’s sake, but that will not excuse his absence from dinner.”

A final squeeze of her son’s arm was Mummy’s farewell and Mycroft watched her flounce off to whatever was waiting for her afternoon’s entertainment and decided that her suggestion was not the worst one she could have given.  She could, for instance, have suggested he take one of the horses, on its own, as she had when he was twenty, which resulted in numerous agonizing sprains as the foolish equine attempted to vault over a fence simply because he had smacked the back of its head in hopes of getting it to slow it’s already too-rapid pace and he had landed on the punishingly-unforgiving ground.  Of course, in hindsight, that had been a profoundly ill-advised thing to do, but it is incalculably difficult to think clearly when one is riding Pegasus!  The foul beast had laughed at his plight, too… there was no mistaking it’s satisfied snigger…

__________

Blast Gregory and his adventurous spirit!  He had trundled the various ways and paths of the property and the man could not be sufficiently considerate to be found along any of them.  This indicated… ruggedness.  Which his dear Gregory had in surplus, however, that did not signify structurally-healthy things for the carriage if he was to take it through a wider area of search.  And, no, he was not going to take the horse, without carriage, for it had already favored him with an antagonistic glare when he had stepped into the conveyance.  Beastly… beast.

Mycroft rode along for a few more moments, before an unusual sound hit his ears and he stopped the horse to listen closer.  That was… splashing.  There was a rather sizeable pond on the other side of the trees at the edge of the field to his left and… there it was again.  A notable splash of water that… oh heavens.  That was laughter.  In a familiar voice.  The seriousness of this situation could not be overexpressed.  However… perhaps it was only some local youth who had wandered onto their land and stopped a moment to refresh himself.  Yes, easily that could be the case, though… he would have to investigate to know for certain.  And, the horse was laughing at him.  Damn creature!  Assuredly related to the villain that attempted unrepentant murder all those years ago.  If ever proof was needed that evil breeds true, the world need only look to the horses and they would find it in abundance…

__________

Men his age, and size, were not physically capable of creeping, but Mycroft felt he was doing a laudable job of it as he approached the pond and did his best to use the moderate amount of vegetation to conceal him during his reconnaissance.

Oh dear.

Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

The faunlike splashing and cavorting was purely the result of Gregory’s… exuberant swimming and BUTTOCKS!  Good lord above the buttocks had been seen!  And it was glorious.  Oh my… was he sweating?  Yes!  His glands were fully shrieking their moist and clammy opinion of his pathetic constitution, but… buttocks.  Firm, succulent buttocks that he had seen for only a fraction of a second but his brain was now branded with the indelible image of the majesty of Gregory’s beautifully-rounded rump.  This tree would not mind providing support, now would it?  Regardless, he would cling to it forcefully since his knees were not currently functioning, though his heart was on the verge beating out of his chest and… no, there was no air in the lungs because it was impossible to breathe!  He would die from a single glimpse of Gregory’s gluteus and it was the most noble death a man could desire!

      “Mycroft!  Brilliant!  Isn’t this a wonderful place to swim?  Come and join me!”

He was wrong -  THIS WOULD BE THE SOURCE OF HIS DEMISE!  All previous carnal confidence fleeing like a bandit from the hangman!

      “Love?  You alright?  Here, let me come and check…”

      “NO!  No… do stay where you are, if you would be so kind.”

For… it is already crippling to look upon your manly chest in its full splendor.  The Platonic ideal of masculinity made flesh and bone… must close eyes and never, never, open them again lest the splendor be blinding…

      “Mycroft?”

      “Y… yes?”

      “Is there a reason your eyes are closed so tightly I’m actually worried that you’ll break something in your face?”

      “No, no reason.  I mean, yes!  The sun… it is agitating my eyes.”

Do not even THINK any term that bears etymological roots with agitation!  Are you mad?  Yes, perhaps that is quite the case…

      “It’s nice and shady here, which makes it especially lovely for a cooling swim after… did you walk all the way here?”

      “I… there was a horse.”

      “Was?  Did it run off on you?”

      “No… I… there is a carriage attached to the horse.”

      “Alright… maybe mine will see it and they can chat.  Are you sure I can’t tempt you into a swim?  Really, the water is wonderful and it’s just the thing after a good ride.”

No no no no no no no.  And no.

      “I am most cool and refreshed at the moment, thank you.”

      “Is that why your eyes are still closed?  Frozen shut?”

      “Certainly not.”

      “Mycroft… it is alright to look at me, you know.  Nothing improper about a chap having a swim.”

That was so far removed from the heart of the issue that it might as well be a blasted ship on the horizon!

      “I am resting my eyes.”

      “Oh… tired eyes.  I understand that.  I was starting to think it’s because you caught sight of my delightful attributes and found they weren’t to your liking.”

      “WHAT?  ARE YOU INSANE?  YOU ARE THE MOST GLORIOUS MAN EVER CREATED AND THAT IS A TRUTH AS SACRED TO ME AS THE TEACHINGS OF ANY PHILOSOPHY IN ANY CULTURE ANYWHERE IN THIS VAST WORLD!”

That may have been a touch strident.

      “Well… what’s a fellow to say after that.  Besides, that’s the way I see you, too.  Just beautifully sculpted and you filled my eyes the very first time I saw you.  And, if it’s not too forward, I’d like to say that I very much look forward to the day I can see you without all those fine clothes covering what I know is something positively breathtaking.”

This time, Mycroft’s knees did buckle slightly, but his faithful tree rallied quickly to keep him upright.

      “You… you propose that we… that it is… unclothed?”

      “Oh yes.  Maybe that’s not what men should express so directly or even believe is right, but… I do have hopes that, if you would agree, I can let you see all I am.  I also have hopes that, someday, you’ll grant me the same honor for you.  And what can be seen, can be touched…”

The agitations _would_ be exposed!  Gregory was proposing that very thing and… _touched_ … oh, the ground was getting a little… spinny… wasn’t it…

      “Was that... Mycroft, did I upset you?”

      “NO!...”

Must control volume of voice for this was not how a gentleman spoke to his… future partner in unclothed touching.

      “…I am simply…”

      “It’s a bit much for you to take in right now?”

      “I…”

      “Just be honest, love.”

      “Perhaps… a bit.  Though…”

Bravery!

      “… it is a concept that I have, myself, contemplated.”

I have no need to see your handsome face, Gregory, to know you are smiling so brightly this shaded glen is now as luminously lit as an open field on a sunny summer’s day.

      “Perfect.  Great minds think alike, it seems.  Not before you’re ready, though, Mycroft.  Not one moment before.  Besides, I’m thinking that the first time I see all your beautiful skin, it should be lit by candlelight.  You’re incomparable in the sunlight, but, by candles or a lamp… your skin glows in a way I can’t begin to describe.  So, it’s alright if you don’t want a little swim right now.  But, how about I give you a tiny something to look forward to?  Trust me not to distress you?”

For no other person could he give this answer.

      “I do.  I have utter faith that you would not intentionally cause me any true and darkly-intended turmoil.”

      “Good.  Just stand there then and keep your eyes closed, though you don’t have to use quite so much force.”

Obeying as best he could, though his eyes were most reluctant to ease the strength of their closing, Mycroft stood and waited, entirely ignoring that he began to tremble, hearing Lestrade leave the water.

      “That’s the man I adore.  Yes, I’m right next to you and, yes, I’m nude as the day I was born.  You haven’t burst into flames, so that’s a good sign.  Try to keep on with that.”

Not an easy feat as the explorer lifted Mycroft’s hand and laid it upon what Mycroft quickly recognized as Lestrade’s shoulder.

      “How’s that?  Like the way it feels?”

No words… there were no words for what he felt.  Gregory’s skin… not a hand or a cheek, but… the warmth of his broad shoulder, gently kissed by water and the light fragrance of the breeze…

      “Oh yes, you like that quite a bit, I think.  I admit that when I’m on expedition, I do get a wealth of chances to see people’s skin, since other cultures don’t share our views of clothing, or the lack thereof, and, in any case, a good swim at the end of a dusty or muddy day is a blessing.  Other people think so, too and the lovely clean water you find might have to be shared.  But, my Mycroft isn’t used to that and that’s perfectly alright.  Nothing wrong with it at all.  Doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy himself a little while he gets more comfortable with the idea, though…”

Slowly moving Mycroft’s hand across his shoulder towards his throat, Lestrade beamed that his Holmes looked positively blissful, which just emboldened him to run Mycroft’s hand over his chest, chuckling very softly at Mycroft’s heavily-shuddered breath and small of splaying of fingers so he could touch as much as possible

      “There, that’s enough of that for now, I think.  Except for one thing…”

Leaning in so none of him besides his lips touched his highly-overstimulated companion, Lestrade softly kissed the person he had come to crave in his heart with a hunger that could never be satisfied.  Which was a wonderful thing, in his opinion, because he couldn’t imagine a future without this particular man in it.

      “Now, I’m going to shake off a little of this water and throw my togs over my head.  Feel free to peek if you like.”

Mycroft struggled to clear his throat and threw the full force of his will towards speaking.  Must show he had _some_ degree of wits remaining!

      ‘I… I have already done so, actually.”

I can hear your grin, Gregory Lestrade.  It sings a strikingly jubilant song.

      “You did, did you?  Let me guess, by accident.”

      “Yes, I must confess it was so.”

      “Thought that would be the case.  Like what you saw?”

      “I… yes.”

      “Anything in particular?”

      “Gregory!”

      “What!  Man likes to know what part of him was especially pleasing to the eye, not that any of my parts fail to meet that standard, but the ego likes a stroke, regardless.”

      “I… it… oh, I cannot say.”

      “It was my arse, wasn’t it?”

      “GREGORY!”

      “You know you think it’s a finely-formed thing.”

      “I… I have no comment to make.”

      “You do, you just won’t say it.  Say it, Mycroft.”

      “I… no.”

      “You want to.  I can see it in your tightly-closed eyes.”

      “I… it is… indecent?  Gregory!  That was a horribly rude noise.”

      “It was, wasn’t it?  Positively _indecent_ , it was.”

Mustn’t laugh… that would tragically undercut the gravitas of his argument.

      “My arse isn’t indecent, though.  It’s art, plain and simple.  Gorgeous thing and holding it’s manly own against age more than admirably.  Solid and makes a fantastic sound when you give it a slap.”

Lestrade gave his naked bum a whack and loved that Mycroft seemed to jump out of his skin.

      “That is terrifically unfair, you villainous explorer.”

      “My villainy is strong, that much is true.  Want to give my firm, bare arse another nice slap to punish me for being evil?”

Rushing forward to steady the erotically-destabilized Holmes, Lestrade gave Mycroft a few comforting there-there’s as he fanned fresh air in front of Mycroft’s nose.

      “Sorry, love.  I forget you get overcome a bit easier than I do.”

      “I… oh dear…”

      “Don’t worry, no more tomfoolery from me.”

      “I… that is… perhaps… if it…”

      “Just one more peek?”

      “if you d… don’t mind.”

      “Turning and walking back to my clothes.  Won’t see a thing if someone decides to sneak a small look at my not-so-small bottom.”

Swaggering at a glacial pace back to his clothes, Lestrade didn’t even need to see Mycroft’s eyes on him because their gaze was flowing over him like the water in which he’d taken his swim.  His Holmes was an easy one to unnerve, but once he got hold of an idea, he warmed to it very quickly.  That spelled good things for when they returned to London.  Very good things, indeed.  And…

Yes, that was the sound of Mycroft slumping against his friend, the tree.  Leaning over to get the clothes instead of squatting might not have been the kindest gesture for Mycroft’s heart, but his dear man would thank him for it later.  What didn’t kill you made you stronger and it was a service to help Mycroft get as strong as possible.  Having a real heart event when those large hands actually roamed across this luscious arse would certainly throw a pail of cold water on their intimate life and nobody wanted that…


	25. Chapter 25

For all of those who might believe that Mycroft Holmes was an unimaginative man, the evidence to disprove the notion could easily come from the fact that the image of a gloriously-naked explorer could be conjured at will, or _despite_ his will, even though said explorer was now fully clothed and rather rakishly, at that.  Gregory was positively beguiling in that particular cut of jacket, which emphasized the lines of his body in the sauciest manner and the… did the man simply have to wear such a vibrant cravat?  The rich color of a full-bodied port, which shimmered in the light, as did his enticingly-silver waistcoat, which, naturally, was adorned with the most sumptuous and curvaceous of threaded whorls.  He could not be announcing his sexual potency with any greater emphasis.  It simply was not possible.

      “Someone likes what he sees.  Want me to pose for you, sir?  Chance to use your talent with the brushes and canvas to paint a gent’s portrait?”

      “You are an unrepentant rascal, Gregory.”

      “That I am.  But, I do remember you said you could draw, so…”

Ah yes, that particular confession _had_ been made, hadn’t it…

      “I... I do have some small facility with sketching, yes.”

      “Then, why don’t you draw me?  I think I’d make a stellar subject for a sketch, actually.  I’ll even do one of those leg-up-on-something poses, so I look my most adventurous.”

A drawing of Gregory… something to have in his desk at home to gaze upon when… well, whenever he damned well chose.

      “It is not an impossible thing, I suppose.”

      “Look at you trying to play aloof.  You’re anxious to start sketching and you know it.  Why don’t you make a start right now, in fact?  We’ve got the rest of the day before dinner and what doesn’t get finished now, we can finish afterwards.  Your mum have one of those music players?  Maybe make use of it later tonight to… help set the mood?”

Gregory… why do I suspect you are hopeful for some romance intermingled with your posing?  Not that I can find a single thing wrong with that particular notion, of course, but I do like to be properly prepared for ecstatic vigorousness.

      “She does, at that.  An evening of art and music… I have no possible objection to that.”

      “Then we have our entertainment sorted.  Speaking of entertainment, have you seen, or heard, Sherlock and John?”

      “No, though that is _also_ something for which I have no possible objection.”

      “HA!  I hope they remember where your mum’s house is, though, after a day of science-ing.  Hate to have to lead a search party by torchlight to find the wayward lambs.”

      “I suspect if we but strew the ground beyond the closest beds of flowers with sufficient bits of meat and bread, we will likely attract the wanderers as I am confident Sherlock did not think to bring with him much in the way of nourishment and pulled John so quickly out of the house that the dear doctor had nary a second to remind him about the perils of starvation.”

      “Good point.  We get used to eating a tad irregularly when we’re on expedition and seeing whole days where we only have a bite of food right after waking and right before sleeping, but the scent of something flavorful will still draw John to it like a camel to water.  He, like me, surely appreciates a good feeding when it presents itself.”

      “A laudable trait and one, I dearly hope, is uptaken by Sherlock.  He is forever vexing Mrs. Hudson and Cook with his fickle appetite.”

      “Silly boy.  I know, for a fact, that he’s missing something simply exceptional.  I thought I’d found my special place in heaven when Mrs. Hudson popped in with her trays of deliciousness as I was working on the conservatory.”

Which reminded Mycroft of something that he quickly remedied by checking for privacy, then taking Greg in a long kiss that he happily provided with his fair share of tongue.

      “Mr. Holmes… what a passionate man you are.”

      “Perhaps, but I am also a highly grateful one.  It is difficult to express how one feels when one receives a gift that one had never considered, yet becomes one they treasure dearly and cannot understand how they, before, existed without it.  That is, unquestionably, what I feel about both you and the conservatory.  Truly, my dear, it is something that has uplifted my days and that is not a thing I take at all lightly.  It has been a blessing and you have my undying gratitude for your efforts and the thoughts behind them.”

Lightly caressing Mycroft’s cheek, Lestrade wondered how he could have gotten this lucky in life, for he’d certainly made no special show of charity, faith or character to warrant this jewel of a man, but fair warning to any who’d try to steal his Mycroft away.  Greg Lestrade fights for what he wants and he’d fight to the end of his days for the man gladly accepting his touch.

      “Anything to make you happy, love.  And, I truly hoped that _would_ be something to bring you happiness.  I’ll admit to a dual motive, because working there gave me the chance to spend time with you, but the real inspiration was to give you a gift that would bring some joy to your day.  To many of your days actually.  It was important to me, to see you happy… and it’s important to me to _keep_ you happy, too.  More important that I properly have the words to say.”

Something that struck Mycroft strongly in his heart because, in his life, happiness had really been a relevant factor.  Satisfied, content, comfortable… those had stood as his goals as he’d seen neither the opportunity nor the need for the happiness spoken of in word and song, but… he had been an utter fool.  It is as if he only now seen the sun and was basking in its warmth…

      “Something for which, I have no doubt, you will find spectacular success for your ability to know me is more profound than for any other in this world.”

After another small kiss, Lestrade ran his hand once more along Mycroft’s cheek and ended with a slow brush of his fingers against Mycroft’s neatly-trimmed beard.

      “Then I will state I believe you very much want to sketch me because I suspect you’ll keep that sketch in your desk or something and give it a peek whenever you’re feeling lonely.”

      “Your omniscience is proved, for that is the very line of my thinking.”

      “Then, let’s find some drawing supplies and… does this look alright?”

Lestrade made gestures towards his clothing and Mycroft knew, that if he said but a word, the explorer would tear apart his wardrobe to craft the perfect ensemble for his modeling.

      “It is a stunning presentation that you make, Gregory, and you are well aware of the fact.”

      “True, but this is _your_ sketch and I want to look the way _you’d_ like me to.  Of course, once we’re back in London, you could do a little sketching of another sort.  One we’d both find _highly_ enjoyable, I wager.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “You know what I mean, Mycroft.”

      “I assure you I do not.”

Oh lord, he really didn’t.  Needed to remember that his Holmes’s mind wasn’t the sort to leap to sordid conclusions no matter the suggestiveness of the situation.

      “Alright, I’ll lay it out plainly.  Imagine us in, say, your library, with a fire going… you in a comfortable chair with your sketching tools and me, bare naked, posed however you’d like so… drat.”

Lestrade was becoming highly efficient with delivering the comfortingly-toned there-there’s to soothe his Mycroft’s erotic uprisings.  However… oh why not…

      “You like that image don’t you, love.  The glow of the fire dancing on my skin… you wearing your fine clothes while I’m completely bare and at your command.  Doing whatever you say purely for your enjoyment, no matter how lewd or filthy it might be.”

Mycroft’s breath hissed between his teeth and he stared into Lestrade’s eyes with a lust and need that the explorer applauded loudly in his mind.

      “Gregory…”

      “Something to keep in mind, my dear Mycroft… just something to keep in mind.  Now, off we go to start my portrait?”

That will be kept _very_ well in mind, my dear Gregory.  And, at the proper time, in the proper place… you _will_ be my model for the most scandalous of purposes.  Nothing on Earth will stand in the way of that…

      “The light in the conservatory is exceptional this time of day.”

      “Then to the conservatory we go.”

Spinning on his heel Greg turned to face the general direction of their destination and laughed when Mycroft made a small hop to stand beside him.

      “After you, my dear.”

The little spring in Lestrade’s step gave Mycroft another laugh, though he decided not to emulate the gait.  The staff was already harboring notions he was becoming lighthearted and that certainly did not need to be encouraged.  That notion was reserved for Gregory, and Gregory alone…

__________

In John’s considered opinion, one of the good things about Sherlock, and there were a few to choose from, was the fact that he gladly carried on a conversation and didn’t bother to notice that there wasn’t another person involved.  Which meant that, with a book in the pocket a restful afternoon could be had while the scientist went on about his work.

      “How did you get in that tree?”

The restful respite was apparently over.

      “Magic.”

      “That is inane, John.  Come down at once.”

Sighing wearily, the doctor dropped from the lovely perch he’d found and stood next to Sherlock who then motioned him to sit under the tree from which John just descended.

      “I have drawn some interesting conclusions from the soil profile of the area.  The samples I have collected will yield afruitful investigation when we return that I believe will challenge the minds of the dolts and goats that masquerade as this nation’s geologists.”

      “I would have thought you’d done that long ago, actually.  Study the soil, I mean, not challenge goats.”

      “I have not had the urge to do so previously.  This region is petrifyingly boring, but the soil, apparently, has some points of interest.  That places it leagues beyond the human population.”

      “They’re not so bad.  Typical, from what I’ve noticed for the quainter parts of Britain.”

      “Ugh… if I die here, do not bury me in this uninspired land.  Wherever my soul goes to rest, I would have it not be in a land where the most excitement seen in a decade is the bolting of sheep from their pen to run amok amongst the cabbages.”

      “You have to admit, that would be funny to see.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John, but the doctor wasn’t fooled, given the small smile beginning to creep onto Sherlock’s lips.

      “I admit nothing.”

      “That fails to surprise me.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes even further, then joined in John’s laughter, something that still perplexed the younger man.  He’d never held in high regard those who laughed often, but now he was finding himself falling victim to that particular infirmity.  At least, when in the company of John.

      “There is some predictability, I suppose, to my genius.”

      “Lamentable, I’m sure, but true.  So, are you ready to return?”

      “No.”

      “Alright… we’ve still got some light left.  What do you want to do now?”

      “Hmmmm… this.”

      “This?”

      “Yes.”

      “And… what’s this?”

Sherlock simply leaned back against the tree and plucked the book from John’s hand.

      “I was reading that, you know.”

      “And now _I_ am, so symmetry is satisfied.”

      “Perfect.  What am I supposed to do?”

      “Bask in my glory?”

John took the cloth cap from his head and smacked Sherlock in the face with it, admiring that the scientist was quick enough to catch the fabric in his teeth.

      “I concede defeat.  Can I have my cap back now?”

      “Mno.”

      “Well, I suppose you can have that for a bit of late lunch and I’ll have this lovely apple and hunk of cheese.”

      “Schkeeze ‘z myn.”

      “The cheese is not yours, thank you very much.  I’m the one who demanded a stop in the kitchen, over your high-volume objections and packed a few things in my pockets, _again_ , over your high-volume objections.  So, sod off.”

Sherlock’s rude noise dislodged John’s cap, which pleased the doctor to no end since a saliva-soaked hat wasn’t what he wanted sitting on his head.  Actually… it reminded him of another time his hat had gotten stolen… much on a quiet day like this when he and James had enjoyed a bit of foolish conversation and a few bites to eat…

      “John?”

Sherlock knew his grasp of such things as teasing and banter was not the most robust, however, he was fairly certain nothing he’d said should have put that somber, reflective expression on John’s face.

      “What?  Oh… sorry.”

      “John… did I… say something to upset you?”

The highly concerned look Sherlock wore as he asked the question hit John squarely in the chest and with a punishing force.  Sherlock was trying so very hard, in an area that was _not_ his strength, and all for him.  Because Sherlock cared… for a simple doctor who offered little, including a rewarding bit of reciprocity for his hopeful affections.  Affections he held at a distance, but he had held and that wasn’t a decent, honorable thing to do to someone unless you had intentions of dragging the whole business closer.  Only a week ago, he’d have said that dragging was no sure thing, but now… now the story was a different one.  It had taken a different and highly unexpected turn, but there was a story that had to be told _before_ this new one could actually begin to be written in earnest.  Maybe… no, not maybe… it _was_ time to take a step he’d only taken once before.  With the person who brought Sherlock into this world.

      “No, but… I’m afraid that may be what I’m doing to you and I feel the need to explain why.”

Sherlock leaned forward and stared John dead in the eye, but saw nothing there that gave him any clue about what was to come.  And, as John moved through his tale, Sherlock had to admit nothing could have given him a hint to prepare him for this.

      “So… I know I’ve been standoffish, but it’s not from anything you’ve done or not done.  In truth, I can’t say I’ve particularly wanted to back away, it’s just… part of me is scared, I suppose, not that a man is supposed to confess to anything remotely like fear.”

Sitting quietly a few moments, John was almost certain he could see Sherlock’s mind racing through the information, processing it at a speed that was blinding, in order to make sense of what he had fallen into when deciding to turn his attentions the doctor’s way.

      “Do… do you still love Sholto?”

Oh, yes, why not ask the most penetrating question straight off the starting line.  Well done.

      “Not… not in the way I think you’re asking about, though I won’t deny there’s still emotion there.”

      “I don’t understand.”

No, of course you wouldn’t.  _I_ don’t precisely understand and I’ve lived with it for years.

      “James was the first person I ever loved and… I think that changes you, in a sense.  Makes you understand what love truly is and what it means to be loved in return.  You have proof that you’re worthy of it and that it _can_ happen to you.  You’ll always feel something, I wager, for the person who gives all of that to you, even if it doesn’t end well, but… if I received from him today a letter asking me to come…”

      “Yes?”

      “I would.  However, it would be to see how he was doing, in terms of his health and well-being.  I might, if I was lucky, hear his thoughts about why he turned away from me and learn how he felt because of it.  But…”

      “John?”

      “I wouldn’t stay.  Even if he asked, I wouldn’t stay.  That part of my life is over, though I’ve let it influence how I behaved as I walked forward and… that wasn’t a welcome outcome.  It wasn’t intentional, but… I’ve never precisely worked to try and change things, either, and that’s not been fair for you.”

John wasn’t sure he’d ever seen abject confusion in Sherlock’s eyes, but there was no doubting they were brimming with it now.

      “I… I have no idea how to respond.”

      “I can’t say I expect you to have one, either, because I’ve probably done a miserable job explaining things and I don’t have a proper method in my own mind to sort everything out, but… I want you to know…”

      “You pause an inordinate amount.”

      “Thank you.  Anyway, I’ve given this a lot of thought since I talked with your mum and I…”

      “Pausing!”

      “Shut it!  I’ve decided that, yes, my life would be immeasurably easier if I courted a woman, but… sorry, no pausing… but a woman isn’t who I want to court, because that’s not you.”

There was a small clearing in the confusion and what was in Sherlock’s eyes began to resemble clarity and, more importantly, glee.

      “You want to court me?”

      “Not in one sense, because I don’t think you’d manage well with the formality and the pace of the blasted business, but I don’t know if there’s a better word to fit.  I’d like to offer you my affections to see if you approve of them?  God no, that’s shite.  I just want to try, alright?  Try for something like Greg and your brother have.  Does that make any sense?”

It made a great deal of sense, in Sherlock’s opinion, and there was not a better outcome, at this juncture, for which he could have hoped.  Though, of course, his and John’s romance would be far superior to that shared by the braggart and the elephant.  They would see his and John’s involvement and suffer unending, agonizing envy.  This was excellent from multiple perspectives!

      “It does and… if I am to be honest…”

      “I wish you would.”

      “I… I had started to wonder if you would ever seek more with me than a friendship, despite the small advances we have made towards a more romantic association.  I am very pleased by this, John, about that I will not lie.”

As if the smile on Sherlock’s face wasn’t proof enough of both his feelings and his relief that those feelings weren’t going to waste.

      “Good.  Then, I’ll wager you won’t object if I do this…”

John smiled, then leaned over and pressed a small kiss on Sherlock’s lips, marveling how the simple act seemed to shut down his companion’s brain for a full thirty seconds, though Sherlock’s eyes blinked out an erratic pattern that could be some form of code only geniuses understood.

      “Sherlock?”

This time it was Sherlock leaning over… lunging over… and this kiss was a touch… substantially… longer and harder than the first, something that John could not find a single flaw with and joined in happily.

      “I anticipate doing that often, John.”

      “You won’t find an argument from me.  Remember, though, that having a kiss out where nobody can observe is fine, but anywhere else…”

      “Dreary.”

      “But important.”

      “Yes, I have had this discussion with Mycroft and he has impressed on me the necessity of secrecy.”

      “And it _is_ a necessity, too.  It doesn’t go well for men who are caught out and their reputation is in tatters from that point forward when it’s made public.  It’s something you always have to keep in the front of your mind, something you have to learn to make habit.  There’s no other choice, I’m afraid.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but not before John caught the glint in them that said his message was both received and taken seriously.

      “Now the lecture is over, and we are away from any other eyes but ours… want to enjoy a few more kisses as well as this lovely afternoon breeze?”

John’s offer was accompanied by one of his more suggestive smiles, which dissolved into laughter the highly-excited grin that erupted on Sherlock’s face.  Yes, this was the right decision.  Maybe it would end in disaster, maybe not, but he couldn’t go through life _hiding_ from life and this was an excellent place to start changing pattern.  Besides, he’d be a fool to deny himself Sherlock’s rather stirring kisses and John Watson was certainly nobody’s fool…

__________

      “Ah, there you are Sherlock.  Gregory and I… oh do remove your hands from your eyes.  You appear ridiculous.”

      “Lestrade is striking me blind with his exposed crotch.”

      “You love it, lad, and you know it.  Beckons you like a moth to a flame.”

      “I am going to be sick!”

      “That will provide Doctor Watson with a chance to practice his trade, which I am certain he will appreciate.”

      “Be silent, Mycroft.  Your paramour is a danger to the health and well-being of humanity.”

      “Gregory is simply posing for a sketch and it is not his fault that your eyes were drawn to a singularly private and telling portion of his anatomy.”

      “I am not the pervert!  Do not lay that particular corpse at my doorstep!”

Both older men decided that pursuing the morbid turn of the conversation would not lead anywhere productive, but Lestrade _did_ see the value in taking a break from his posing so Sherlock’s humors might settle to a less hysterical level.

      “There, now all you can see… well, you can see the same thing you could before, just not as spread out.  Is that better?”

      “I have no idea for I am now blind.”

      “Well, then, Mycroft was hoping for a nude sketch of me so, since you can’t see anything, I’ll just shed these clothes and…”

While Sherlock hurled himself onto the settee and began weeping, Mycroft stifled a giggle and wagged a finger at Lestrade.

      “Now, now, my dear… we agreed.  We shall wait until we return to London for that particular indulgence.”

      “You will irretrievably contaminate our home with the stench of your depravity!”

      “Better than the stench of your experiment with decomposition which cost me a prince’s ransom in payments to the household staff so they agreed to continue their employment in our home.”

      “That was vital scientific research.”

      “ _That_ had to be ported out of the house by workmen, who I also had to handsomely recompense, and required the floors be replaced in your laboratory.”

      “The same would occur if I saw Lestrade naked for the acidity of my vomit would eat through the densest of wood.”

How wrong you are, brother dear.  The sight of Gregory’s body would bring you closer to spiritual rapture than anything else upon this planet.

      “Hey!  I’m a fine specimen of manhood!”

      “You are a fine specimen of aged decrepitness.”

      “Gregory’s affections tell a different tale, Sherlock.”

      “Pfft… John’s affections are much more robust and not only due to his lack of sags and wrinkles.  His kisses, for example, are of the highest quality and I have no doubt Lestrade must take a nap during any he bestows for they have sapped the small reservoir of elderly energy his enfeebled frame still harbors.”

Two dumbstruck men stared at Sherlock who needed a moment to fathom things out, then found himself somewhat at a loss as to how to proceed, besides coughing demurely.

      “Am I… interrupting something?”

Walking into a room where the three most garrulous men in existence were utterly silent was not a situation that inspired in John a great hope that all was right in the world.

      “No… not at all, John, my boy.”

      “That’s your ‘I know something you don’t know’ grin, you bastard.  Tell me what it is, Greg, so I can decide if you need pummeling or can I save my hands for something more important.”

Mycroft and Lestrade shared a look to ask if the other wanted to take advantage of the opportunity just presented, and both declined in the interests of domestic harmony.

      “They have been cowed by the knowledge that our passions are more expertly expressed than theirs.”

Thank you, brother dear.  Can you even spell ‘domestic harmony?’

      “Bloody wonderful.  You couldn’t keep that private for even one hour, could you?”

      “There are no ears to hear that do not already know of our preferences, so the blood oath I took for secrecy is not relevant to the situation.”

John sighed loudly and looked around for something potent to drown his sorrows, perhaps that glittering decanter sitting on a sideboard to which Lestrade happily pointed.

      “Sherlock does use a relatively fine and exceedingly literal interpretation for such things as oaths, promises and contracts, John, so kindly remember that as you move forward with my brother.  It shall spare you an abundance of headaches in the future.”

Sherlock’s affronted snort went down smoothly with the first sip of John’s whisky, and a second one cleaned it completely from John’s memory.

      “Thank you, Mycroft.  I suspect I’m going to need all the advice I can gather.”

      “I shall prepare a small manuscript for you to study.”

      “Thanks.  Include a few bottles of this lovely whisky along with it, too, because I think they’ll also be something I’m going to need.”

      ‘I am feeling very unappreciated, John.”

Sherlock’s pout made John laugh and, tossing to the wind any thoughts of keeping their romantic progress to themselves for now, walked over and gave Sherlock a kiss on the cheek, which immediately brought out Sherlock’s greatly-pleased smile.

      “I am now content.”

This time, Lestrade and Mycroft laughed, along with John, something which helped continue to ease the doctor’s worries about taking such a huge step.  This felt good.  It felt very good.  Comfortable, joyful… not a single indication could ever be given in public about how and Sherlock felt about each other, but there were, at least, some places they _could_ and have people be happy about the fact.

      “Something that benefits us all, I’m certain.  And… good heavens, Mycroft… did you draw that?”

John walked over to better see the sketch on which Mycroft was working and sucked in a breath seeing both the craftsmanship and the artistry presented on the paper.     

      “That I did.  Gregory wrested from me the secret of my small artistic talent…”

      “Miniscule artistic talent.”

      “Thank you, brother dear… and he requested an informal portrait be made.  It is not a terrible beginning, I will aver, and we shall, hopefully, see it finished after dinner.”

      “It’s beautiful, actually, which is odd given the subject, but this is a lovely thing, Mycroft.  You have a tremendous talent.”

      “Mycroft has a tremendous belly, you mean.”

While John moved over to give Sherlock a better view of his evil eye, Greg took his own look at the drawing and felt his eyes open wide at the sight.

      “That’s amazing!  Mycroft… tell me you do this often.”

      “Unfortunately, no.  The small amount of time I could devote to the task is often required for other matters.  It is rather a shame for I do enjoy this sort of thing and have taken great pleasure rendering even this simple sketch.” 

      “Then we’ll make certain you get some time for this.  As much as you want.  I’ve got not a single issue with sitting quietly and reading while you work on something that interests you, even if it’s not me.  I don’t have to be the focus of our time together, though my ego tells me I’m daft for saying that, and nothing would make me happier than you getting a little more opportunity to do something you enjoy.”

It was Mycroft’s turn to receive a small kiss and Lestrade adored the feel of warmth on his man’s cheek from both the praise and the knowledge that, again, his needs and wants were important to the one _giving_ him the kiss.

      “Thank you, my dear, and I consider that a stellar suggestion.  Perhaps laying in an appropriate selection of supplies shall be my first order of business after returning to London.”

      “Wonderful!  And, I suspect, we can get Sherlock in one of those togas and laurel crowns to pose, too.”

      “I have no intention of humiliating myself in such an unproductive manner.  There are criminals and madmen aplenty to have delivered if Mycroft insists on filling our home with his pencil scratchings.”

      “Given enough time, both could easily be you, my son.  Oh Mycroft… it is good to see you with a pencil in hand again.”

Easing his grip for the predicted snatch of his paper from his grasp, Mycroft called their pre-dinner session officially concluded.  Mummy’s arrival, combined with Sherlock, spelled doom for any serious or focus-requiring pursuits.

      “Why, this is superb!  Mycroft… I cannot recall another piece that demonstrated this degree of… emotion!  I suppose what they say about art and passion is correct, for here it is certainly proved.”

Lestrade’s pride at his Mycroft’s talent puffed his chest, something which made John both take notice and remark upon, at least to himself.  Greg was entirely besotted with his Holmes and it showed in everything he said and did.  That was, ultimately, what he had felt with James, but… that fire had burned to ash.  A new fire was growing, though, and, sitting here with people surrounding him with whom he could be open about who he was… that would let this new fire have the chance to grow into something long-lasting.

      “And I’m certain this will be quite the balm for my dear Mycroft when you are off in the bushes and quicksand for months upon months on end.”

However, long-lasting needed to be well sorted before those months and months came to pass.  Thank you for that, Mrs. Holmes… no wonder Greg was frantic to push back their next expedition!  And he already had a head start with Mycroft while this stupid doctor had been hiding his head in the sand and wasting time that could have been better spent getting his besottedness firmly in place!  Shite!  What an idiot!  Alright Sherlock, my fine fellow, prepare for a speedy incursion into the aforementioned besottedness because John H. Watson is not going to jeopardize this chance, which he has _already_ jeopardized by being a twat, through meek manners and tentativeness.

Looking over at Sherlock who seemed to be thinking the very same thing, John had a suspicion life was about to get very interesting…

__________

Lestrade put on his standard brilliant showing at dinner, which was attended by a few of Mrs. Holmes close friends, ones _without_ marriageable daughters, but one eye stayed firmly on the man who owned his heart for that man seemed hair’s width from leaving the table every minute of their meal, likely to find a quiet place to reflect on the harsh truth that had pushed its way into their joy.  It wasn’t as if it could be avoided, but it was _his_ job to make Mycroft as comfortable with the idea as possible and reassure him, to the very depths of his soul, that their affection was far stronger than any separation in either distance or time.

And work on that job started the minute dinner, and the subsequent hour of conversation, finished and Lestrade could steer Mycroft out of the house and for a walk under night sky, grasping his hand the moment they were out of sight of the windows.

      “Please don’t fret, love.  And you _are_ fretting, so don’t say you’re not.”

Mycroft sighed and raised their joined hands to kiss.

      “I find that I am unable to stop.”

      “I know… it’s been easy to put that out of my mind, too, and just enjoy _this_.  Us being together without a care in the world.  I’m not leaving straight away, though, you know.  It takes time to mount an expedition and nobody is questioning that I’m moving more slowly through the process that usual.  They think it’s a smart idea, I suspect, to give myself a little extra time to remember that I’m English and all of that.  And, I’ve not slowed the pace of my lectures and presentations, which the RGS always appreciates, since it puts gold in their coffers.  I’ll be months yet, I wager, before I leave.  A few, at least.  And I’ll take any oath, leave any token you’d like to guarantee my return right to those warm arms of yours.”

Something Lestrade was happy to take advantage of at the moment, jumping slightly to put himself in Mycroft’s path so their collision was guaranteed.

      “See… how could I go on if I didn’t have this waiting for me?”

Mycroft harrumphed and rolled his eyes when his nose got bopped by Lestrade’s finger.

      “Gregory Lestrade…”

      “That _is_ my name, so says my mum.”

      “I… it was simply something of a pall Mummy’s words threw upon me and it is difficult to shake.”

      “Oh, I understand.  I feel it, too, though I’m used to going off and leaving people behind.  This time, though… I’ve not really had anyone to return _for_ , Mycroft.  Don’t think it’s not laid out in front of me, what it’s going to be like, I mean, because I already feel the loss when I don’t see you for a week!  I care for you with everything in me and it’s going to be a misery weathering the days that you’re not with me.  But, it won’t be forever.  Won’t even feel as long as it is, probably, because I know how busy you are and how terribly hard you work.  Besides, look up there…”

Lestrade pointed up to the sky and let his hands make a big circle above their heads.

      “See all of that?  When you sit of an evening in your conservatory or take a peek out of doors, just look up into the night sky and know that the glorious blanket of stars is something that covers me, as well.  I’ll look up and stare at the same stars and know, simply know, that you’re looking at them, too.  We’ll share the stars, Mycroft, as often as you want to look up at them.  You and me… we’ll always share the stars, even when I’m back here and we can look up at them together, just as we are now.”

Taking Mycroft in his arms, Lestrade kissed his poor Holmes warmly, then rested his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, while Mycroft absorbed the meaning in his words and gestures.

      “Gregory… you do know that the constellations visible in the northern hemisphere are not necessarily available to viewers in the southern hemisphere, correct?”

Lestrade slumped and leaned his head back to glare his most peeved glare at his brain-oriented companion.

      “What in the… Mycroft Holmes!”

      “I… I was overcome by academia.”

      “You’re very lucky I love you, you know that?”

Mycroft gasped loudly and reared back, leaving Lestrade with an armful of air and a sheepish look growing on his face.

      “Gregory!”

      “I… I hadn’t… I was going to wait, I suppose, to say that.  Probably should have.  Can we forget about it until it’s a better, more romantic time and…”

Mycroft sprang forward and his enthusiastic embrace lifted Lestrade three inches off the ground.  The kiss that followed left the explorer jelly-kneed and hoping he wouldn’t collapse and make a further fool of himself.

      “Oh my Gregory… oh my dear, dear Gregory… I… I never thought I would…  my Gregory…”

      “Then, you don’t want to forget about what I said?”

As if the trembling in Mycroft’s body and shine in his eyes said that was even a remote possibility.

      “Never!  Never in a lifetime… for my heart is also yours, my dear.  I love you with a depth the ocean cannot match and a fire the pits of hell cannot claim.  My love is yours, my dearest Gregory.  My… my _beloved_ Gregory…”

If the moon shined as brightly as Lestrade’s smile it would seem as daylight and this new kiss with the man he loved felt as if it was sealing a pact, one that both men wanted desperately.

      “You’re not sorry I sort of just… dribbled it out?”

      “Nonsense.  I cannot think of a more heartfelt way to declare your ardor than one coming freely and unthought about from your lips.  A more honest statement I could never hope for and… oh Gregory…”

Mycroft again lifted Lestrade from his feet and kissed him with a jubilance and excitement that made both men laugh the sort of laugh that only those in love share, filled aplenty with understandings and meanings nobody else could fully comprehend.  Offering his arm, Lestrade laughed again at Mycroft’s mock surprise, then made a show of straightening his back as Mycroft took his arm and they continued on into the night.  Yes, parting would difficult, surely not a _sweet_ sorrow, but they would endure.  Couples truly in love always did, and that was a fact recorded in a thousand books in every library in every country the written word was collected.  Now, they would add their own chapters though, in both their opinions, some would have to be edited for the safety of more sensitive readers…


	26. Chapter 26

      “So soon?”

Mycroft tried to keep the unbridled glee off of his face and appear as mournful as he possibly could.

      “Yes, Mummy.  We have reached the end of our visit and it is time we return to London.”

      “But… just one more day.  And night.  There are still many things to which your Gregory and Sherlock’s Doctor Watson have not been exposed!”

Something that was very much to Mycroft’s liking.  Soon, it would be some onerous dealings with dogs or, worse, tenants, and that would surely send him into a foul temper.  Men in love should not have to suffer foul tempers so soon after their love-inspired state has been properly declared.  At least to the person in receipt of that love.

      “There will be opportunities aplenty in the future for such things, but we _do_ need to return.  Gregory has obligations to fulfill, as do I.  Further, Sherlock and John have their own agenda to pursue and that is not occurring here.”

      “Could you not… you have scarcely arrived!”

They had been in residence nearly a week at this point and it had been the most turbulent and glorious week in Mycroft’s personal history, however, any further advancement on certain… fronts… required a bit more privacy than was afforded here.

      “I do promise, Mummy, that we will return and not after an eternity has passed, either. The train is a somewhat demonic contrivance, but not so diabolical that we could not make use of it with a greater degree of frequency than in the past to pay a visit if that is to your liking.”

      “Is that a sincere promise or one that you give to the government buffoons?”

      “My promises are always sincere.  That they interpret my words in a different manner than I have intended is, in no manner, my fault.”

      “Pfft.  Regardless, I shall be traveling to London with greater frequency myself, so I suppose it shall not be an interminable wait before I again see my darling boys.”

Oh joy.

      “I shall inform Mrs. Hudson to keep a room ready.”

      “Excellent!  Oh Mycroft…”

A large hug from his mother was not something to which Mycroft was accustomed, but they were slowly becoming the norm, it seemed.

      “… I am so happy for you.  My little boy has finally found the happiness I have always wished for him.  And, you do intend to continue pursuing a romance with Gregory, do you not?”

As if that was ever in question.

      “I do.  We shall navigate the process with due decorum, of course, and…”

      “Pish and tosh.  If society sees not fit to recognize your adoration, then you need not see fit to recognize their rules and standards.  What is the quality of your bed linens at the moment?  Actually, what is the quality of your _bed_?  Is it sufficient to host the weight of two adult men, one who is especially kingly in proportions?”

Oh dear lord…

      “Mummy…”

      “The question is valid!  You must plan ahead, my son, else you find yourself rather unhappily surprised during a particularly enjoyable moment with your suitor.”

      “Can we agree that my and Gregory’s private affairs are not subject to discussion?”

      “No.”

From which parent Sherlock inherited the more colorful aspects of his personality had never, in the duration of his existence, been in question.

      “Mummy…”

      “Correct.  I am your mother and, therefore, it is both my right and my duty to pry into your affairs, private or not, to verify that you are well and happy.  Take that as official notification that questions will be asked and I will expect truthful and thorough answers.”

Why did Gregory have to insist upon packing his own luggage when there was a valet present to do that very thing?  Did he not anticipate this ambush?  Explorers were supposed to be slightly prescient for this sort of thing, were they not?  This was a black mark that would take many kisses to erase.

      “What a jubilant future I foresee for myself.”

      “And your brother.”

At least he would not be alone in his writhing torment.

      “I shall pass along your edict.”

      “Good boy.  Now, I suppose I should see you are provided with refreshments for the trip home and that you have some of our honey to give to your Cook.  Also, I am certain I shall not notice if a few bottles of my brandy and whisky disappear from my stocks, as long as I am promised they will not be enjoyed in a solitary fashion, but are shared with someone who looks positively handsome by firelight.”

And look at her Mycroft smile at the mention of the valiant and striking explorer.  Her dear son was so besotted it was nearly unimaginable!  It was a tragedy she could not make a wager with the butler for how long it would be before Mycroft was sharing a home with the explorer because only she, as his mother, could anticipate how quickly her son was likely to propose such a thing.  Mycroft was not one to let something he wanted stay out of his reach for long and he desperately wanted Mr. Gregory Lestrade.  And, lucky for them, Mr. Gregory Lestrade desperately wanted Mr. Mycroft Holmes, as well…

__________

      “We did _not_ miss the train!”

      “It was a very close thing.  Your weeping and sobbing nearly cost us this opportunity to flee Purgatory and I am not content with the fact.”

Lestrade smiled at his unhappy carriage companion and marveled at how heartwarming was his Mycroft showing his most petulant pout to the world.

      “There was no weeping and sobbing.  I was simply polite and let your mum say her rather lengthy goodbyes and gathered all the various things she had readied for us to bring back to London.  If you’d have helped, and not plead ‘a plethora of servants’ we could have left sooner and not arrived at the train station twenty minutes before the train left, which _is_ what we did, so you’re positively daft.  Adorable, but daft.”

      “Pshaw.  I have never heard such bleating and wailing in all my days.”

      “That was Sherlock after your mum said she’d probably come and visit your house in a few weeks.  I think John’s still consoling him.”

      “Ah, I stand corrected.  I believe I may have joined him in that, actually.”

      “You’re both bastards and I hope your mum comes and stays a fortnight.”

      “You say that now, but do realize that I shall temper my amorous behaviors nearly to naught when Mummy is in residence.”

      “I’ll help you build a barricade for the door.”

      “I thought that might change your attitude.  Mrs. Hudson shall be sufficiently insufferable without adding another female tormentor to the fold.”

      “Mrs. Hudson is going to be so excited she’ll probably need a sit-down and a strong gin to calm herself after we tell her the good news.  She loves you and Sherlock like her own sons and don’t you dare think otherwise.”

      “Precisely!  Another matronly hen clucking and preening, strewing feathers over my rugs…”

Lestrade reached into one of the bags he’d kept with him and plucked a firm-crusted loaf of bread from it, handing it to the suspicious Mycroft, whose suspicion morphed into delight when he saw the crock that followed.

      “How splendid!  The fresh cheese I mentioned.”

      “Delivered this very morning.  I asked your mum if it was available and she made certain it was.  And, she agreed that you might need it, given your toddler-like tantrums in the face of train travel.  Happier now?”

With a crusty loaf and an indulgence that was one of the astoundingly rare things he enjoyed about a country visit with Mummy?  Yes, much happier now.

      “Look at that smile.  I don’t even need a word of answer.  Just concentrate on relaxing and enjoying you nibble and I’ll keep an eye out for pesky mothers and chickens and the like.”

Mycroft pursed his lips at Lestrade, then let it give way to laughter as he found himself astounded, yet again, at how fantastically fortunate a man he was.  Given the luxury of Gregory at his side, train journeys might, finally, be tolerable.

      “Oh… sorry to bother you, two.”

John’s head peeked into the carriage and the look on his face set Greg in motion standing up and motioning Mycroft to stay where he was.

      “Yes, John?”

      “Ummm… Mycroft?  The conductor would like to know if you are willing to assume financial responsibility for any and all… incidents… that might accompany one of Sherlock’s… experiments.”

      “Oh dear lord…”

      “I’m on it!  You just sit here and relax, Mycroft.  There’s whisky in my flask if you have a mind for it, but leave some for me because I have a feeling I’ll want it when I’m finished sorting this out.  Back in a moment.  Maybe.”

 Still tolerable… Gregory was an angel, heaven sent, to make his life a pleasant one.  Of course, to manage Sherlock, he had to have _some_ devil in him, but that would only serve to make their intimate time all the more appealing…

__________

      “Good heavens…”

Greg patted Mrs. Hudson’s back as she clung to him and had a little cry, while giving ‘you be nice’ eyes to his exasperated Mycroft, who was being an evil son and not caring for his overcome adopted mother who was just as excited by their news as Lestrade had predicted.

      “My boys… my dear, dear boys… I knew you were perfect for each other.  Very moment I saw the two of you together, I thought that my Mycroft had found a proper partner for this life and now it’s real…”

      “I think I knew it, too, Mrs. Hudson, but that one there needed a spot of convincing.”

      “Gave him a full conservatory you did!  You don’t do that for someone unless they’re the heart that beats in your chest.”

Mycroft’s eye-rolling earned him another ‘Be Nice!’ look over the top of Mrs. Hudson’s head and he finally reached out to rather awkwardly pat Mrs. Hudson on the shoulder.

      “Your perspicacity is unquestioned, Mrs. Hudson.”

      “I know!  This is… oh, this is a blessed day, truly a blessed day… now, where’s that brother of yours and his Doctor Watson?”

The traitorous pair are upstairs, dear lady, using the distraction of your caterwauling to make their escape and avoid a tear-stained lapel.

      “Oh, somewhere about, I suppose.”

      “I’m going to find them and see how far along they are with this romance business.  Seems like the country air did my boys a world of good!”

Wiping her eyes, Mrs. Hudson motioned Lestrade to lean over for a quick peck on his cheek, then browbeat Mycroft into doing the same, before racing off to find her next pair of victims.

      “Was I not correct?  Feathers!  We are soon to be drowned in a sea of feathers.”

Lestrade shook his head, then took Mycroft in a kiss, the first one they had shared since leaving for the train hours ago.

      “I’ll find a broom.  Besides, I think it’s a grand thing that Mrs. Hudson’s so happy for us.  Feels like a real homecoming, doesn’t it?  That’s not something to look down your nose on, Mr. Holmes, and my opinion is quite the expert one for that.”

      “I suppose there is merit to that perspective.  I admit that when we return from Mummy’s, there is little in the way of excessive fuss or jubilation, so this is surely a change in situation.”

      “Then there we have it.  Now, of course, you have to tell her your mum will be visiting a bit more often.”

      “ _I_ have to inform Mrs. Hudson?  You, I believe, are far better suited for the task.”

      “She’ll thump me!  Have me by the ear and thump me!”

      “I shall gaze upon you most sympathetically as you press a cool cloth to the site of your thumping.”

      “Bloody marvelous.  You are the most helpful man in the world.”

      “Thank you.  I do try.”

Lestrade huffed loudly and poked Mycroft in his chest.

      “You try my patience, you gorgeous man, that’s what you try.  Despite that, though… I’m going to miss you tonight, love.  It was only a few days, but being under the same roof, knowing you’d be there for breakfast and dinner, having time simply to sit and enjoy each other’s company… I’m terribly sad that it’s come to an end.”

Taking the explorer in a warm embrace, Mycroft took a moment to let the pang in his own chest soothe to a manageable level.

      “I feel much the same, Gregory, and my heart is just as heavy.”

      “I should be able to visit in a day or two, though.  I’ll have some matters to tend to at the RGS and I have one talk to give to a group of one of the colleges, first in a string of them, actually, and that’s the… night after tomorrow.  Busy, but it won’t be difficult to make time for you, Mycroft.  An afternoon here, a morning there… definitely a number of evenings in all of that I’ll have free and I can’t imagine a more enjoyable way to spend them than with you.”

His Gregory tried so very hard to be available and he would do the same.  He had not stretches of days to his own devices, as he had at Mummy’s, but there were snippets of time that could and would be shared to celebrate the bond they had formed and continued to strengthen.  But… he might also make a small foray into an area that should be broached at some point, though not acted on for some time…

      “My dear?”

      “Hmmmm…”

      “Mummy raised an issue that… I suppose it must be brought to light for discussion, though, I am loath to cast any gloom upon our time together.”

      “Mycroft, is something wrong?”

The concern in Lestrade’s eyes set Mycroft wishing, not for the first time in his life, that his typical manner of speech did not inspire quite so much dread in his conversation partners.

      “No, and I apologize for giving that impression.  It is simply… do you believe that there ever shall come a time when… this shall not be the standard culmination of time spent in each other’s company.”

      “I have no idea what you’re going on about.”

      “Yes, that was poorly phrased.  To clear the detritus from the discussion…”

      “That would be helpful.”

      “I am happy to be of service.  Gregory… is there a time that you can envision… sharing a home with me?”

Saying it aloud made the matter sound… consequential.  And permanent.  That was likely why Gregory was staring at him as if he had uttered a gross profanity.

      “I am sorry, Gregory, I know I…

      “Yes.”

      “Pardon?”

      “Yes, there is absolutely a time I can envision sharing a home with you.  I… I wasn’t certain if that was something you wanted or thought was feasible, given the risks involved, but I’ve thought about that a lot, actually.  Not simply visiting when we could, but… truly sharing a life and a home.  Having what a legal couple could have, even if we could never announce the fact.”

Suddenly, Mycroft was the one staring because Lestrade’s answer wasn’t something, strangely, for which he had properly prepared himself.

      “You… you would agree?”

      “We’d have to think about how to present it, what story we would tell, but I can’t imagine saying no to an offer like that.”

Helping calm his Mycroft’s over-excited emotions was becoming second-nature to Lestrade and he gently led Mycroft to a comfortable chair while speaking quiet nonsense words until Mycroft returned to the here and now.

      “Oh, Gregory… the joy I experience when I am with you…”

      “It’s the same I experience when I’m with you, I suspect.  We’ll talk about this, alright?  We’ll think and plan and when the time is right, we’ll make that our reality.  Would you… are you thinking about us living here?”

      “I… I truly had not added any detail to the original concept.”

      “That’s alright, but I can tell you now that if that’s the most comfortable situation for you, then that’s fine with me.  I’m not so prideful that I’d insist you upheave everything so we find a new house.  I’m very content with the idea of contributing to the upkeep of _this_ house, which I know you’ve already arranged to please you best.”

It hadn’t really crossed Mycroft’s mind, but said mind was now experiencing a notable relief from the explorer’s words.  He _was_ comfortable in his house.  He had taking pains to situate things and arrange the spaces in a way that was most agreeable to him and most efficient for his work.  That Gregory recognized that and was willing to accept it… the man was utterly perfect.

      “Thank, you, my dear.  It _would_ be a benefit for me to remain in this house, as opposed to securing a new residence.”

      “Then here it will be!  And, I say that knowing Sherlock’s going to be glaring at me across the breakfast table every single day to try to turn my insides into knots.”

Oh yes… Sherlock.  That was a fact about which Mycroft had _completely_ forgotten.  On a happy note, Gregory was most talented at managing Sherlock’s nonsense and another body turned in that direction would make for a far happier, and quieter, home.  Home… was there a more delightful word in the English language?  No, certainly not…

      “Sherlock will make his opinion of this trajectory known, and stridently, at that, however, I believe he honestly would not be overly aggrieved at the thought.  He has benefitted through association with you, my dear, and values your advice and guidance.”

      “And you’re hopeful that I’ll keep him distracted so you don’t have to manage his mischief as often as you do now.”

      ‘Your mind is nearly as bedazzling as your beauty.”

      “Thanks!  Now, since you’re seated, why don’t I pour you a nice brandy and we can chat awhile.  I know you likely have stacks of work on your desk to sort through, so I won’t stay long, but I think we could both benefit from a quiet to end our adventure.”

Yes, work.  Stacks was undoubtedly the truth of it, too.  Stacks higher than the spires of the tallest church, yet the thought of turning towards it and away from Gregory was like a rancid taste in his mouth.  When Gregory called this house his home, matters would be different.  Work that was enjoyably interrupted by a small kiss from his paramour.  The sharing of the mealtime breaks, which would certainly help to soothe his mind and restore his good humor after hours of poring through the most incompetently-scribed documents and declarations that have ever wasted valuable paper.  Oh dear heavens, he wanted, with some urgency, to race to Gregory’s RGS lodgings and gather everything the man owned to begin their cohabitation.  If he _could_ race to the RGS, that might actually be occurring at this very moment.  His legs were twitching for heaven’s sake!

      “That it is an idea boasting my wholehearted endorsement.”

      “Brandy it is!  Rest yourself, Your Majesty, and let your faithful jester provide libation and entertainment.”

Mycroft’s arrogant flick of his wrist made Greg giggle and caper in his best jester-like fashion to the brandy decanter, knowing Mycroft would be smiling fondly at him behind his back.  Oh yes, this was exactly what he wanted in his life.  This right here.  It had taken most of his life to find it, but good things came to those who waited.  Very good things, apparently, if that gleam he’d seen in Mycroft’s eyes was to be believed.  Might need to start consolidating his belongings, because what Mycroft wanted, Mycroft did not wait long to get.  Which flew in the face of his previous platitude, but who could think properly when they were in love?  Nobody.  Nobody he wanted to know, at least… heartless bastards that they were…

__________

The heartless bastards had found him!  New rule for life – never leave London without threatening violent death to anyone who filled his schedule near to overflowing with speaking engagements, luncheons, parties… he scarcely had a moment to sleep, let alone visit Mycroft.  Not that he could complain to anyone but John, because if his arse wasn’t in Africa, then this was what he did instead, but… aaarrrrgggghhhh!  There were only so many messages he could send before he felt like a cad and, no, it didn’t help that Mycroft was exactly as busy and occupied as he was.

Now, it was a meeting with the RGS board about the upcoming expedition and what that was to look like, from an organization perspective and those were enough to drive a sane man mad.  But, since he didn’t want to face a new adventure with naught in his trunk but a rusty knife and three pencils, one smile slapped on the face and the most inspirational ‘explorer’ clothes he owned on his back.  Give them the show and they more easily gave the money.  After all his work, though, the accounts should be deep in the black side of the ledger.  The trick now was to ensure that lovely ledger-filling money danced right into his pockets…

__________

      “It… it’s not possible!”

      “I know.”

      “But… how can they… are they mad?”

A question Greg had asked himself numerous times during today’s meeting and almost as often out loud to the body of men seated around the enormous meeting table.

      “They say it’s too good an offer to refuse.  And they are taking it very, very seriously.

      “TWO WEEKS!  We can’t mount a full expedition in two bloody weeks!”

John’s disbelief, and growing anger, was a full match for Greg’s own, which had been simmering hotly since he arrived back at his rooms.

      "They say the opportunity is too valuable to ignore and could set a precedent for the future.  Free transport if we highlight the ship and ship owner in talks, publish our journals for the voyage… after they’ve been polished into an adventure series, of course… have a painting or two done of the gallant explorers and their stalwart vessel… the RGS would save a tremendous amount of money and gain extra publicity as a bonus.  They’re not joshing, John, and they’re willing to commit the people and resources to see us on that ship when it sails in two weeks.”

John ran his hands through his hair and gritted his teeth to keep from yelling.  This was… it was ridiculous!  Ridiculous and short-sighted and a load of the worst sort of tommyrot… and he just began… what was he going to tell Sherlock?

      “This is a dastardly time for this to happen, you know.”

      “Oh, I know.  I know very, very well.  I told Mycroft I love him, John.  We… we’ve even started the conversation about taking things further, making a real home for the two of us… now, I have to knock on his door and say we don’t have another few months to lay more bricks for what we’re building, but my arse is on the water in two weeks and I won’t see him for… it could be a year before we’re back.  Longer, maybe, since we’ll have extra funds for supplies.”

Hoping he wasn’t gaping at his friend, John realized Greg had said, as near as could be said, that he and Mycroft were moving on from courtship and into the permanent state that a man could never legally enjoy with another man, no matter how much they might want it.  It was… share a home?  Might as well be married!  Which the daft bastard had always wanted.  His greatest dream right in his fingers and now… no, this wasn’t good at all.

      “I… I didn’t know.  Oh Greg, I am so very sorry.  He’ll wait, though, right?  He… did Mycroft say he loved you in return?”

      “He did.  Greatest thing these two ears have ever heard.  And, a man like Mycroft doesn’t say those sorts of things lightly.  Now, I’m traipsing off before we’ve had any real time to just… enjoy it!  You know how busy we’ll be, too, these next two weeks… even if we had two months it would be busy, but now… it’s going to unceasing chaos!”

Something that was sinking into John’s head, as well.  He’d just given Sherlock true reason for hope and now he’d scarcely have time to offer two words of reassurance before vanishing from his life for a punishingly long time.

      “I’m… I’m happy for you, mate, I really am.  And devastated at the same time.  We could… could we just say no?”

      “Not if we want to continue working.  They’d simply cast out a net and you know there would be hands aplenty grasping for a chance to prove themselves.  We’re not indispensable, John.  Certainly not irreplaceable.  And… I don’t think either Mycroft or Sherlock would be happy if we made that choice.  At first, maybe, on one level, but both respect dedication and making good on your responsibilities.  We wouldn’t do ourselves proud by letting them down like that, no matter how good it might feel otherwise.”

And, as John thought about it, he, very reluctantly, had to agree.

      “You’re probably right.  When… when are you going to tell him?”

      “Tonight.  There’s no grace in waiting and… it’s going to be difficult enough to have any time with Mycroft before we leave that I don’t want to see any opportunity go to waste, even if the time is used for something…. heartbreaking.”

The sound of which John was most certain he could hear rending in his friend’s chest.

      “I’m supposed to meet Sherlock this afternoon and… I’ll tell him then and keep him away from Mycroft’s house until late so you two can have some time alone to talk.”

Which would give him and Sherlock time to talk, too.

      “Thanks, John, I appreciate that.  I know you’re having your own worries right now, so if there’s something I can do… talk to Sherlock or something… just ask, alright?”

      “I will.  I honestly don’t know how he’ll react.  We… we had a talk at his mum’s and sorted out a few things.  Not to your and Mycroft’s stage, but… we both understand better what the other is thinking, and wanting, and… I suppose my thoughts were along the lines of yours.  Take some time to see matters move forward to a point where my leaving wasn’t going to leave a bitter end to unravel.”

      “It won’t, John.  You need to have faith in that.”

      “You do, too.  How well is that working for you?”

      “Don’t grin at me, evil doctor.”

      “It’s a grimace.”

      “Oh, then that’s fine.”

Of course, both men knew that nothing was fine right now.  And, potentially, nothing would be fine for a very long time to come…

__________

Clothes on his body that he knew Mycroft admired – check.  Box of sweets in his hand from Mycroft’s favorite shop – check.  Body calm and collected – rubbish.  He was shaking like a leaf in a storm and part of him wanted nothing more than to run away like a child and hide behind a handy female’s skirts until this whole business went away and left him alone.  This was going to murder his beloved and the small, yet existent, cowardly portion of his nature was terrified of facing it.  But, his cowardice wouldn’t, and couldn’t, win the day, because his dear Mycroft deserved to know now and not from some horrid note left at the door the morning after his and John’s ship sailed.  So… knock on the door, smile and plunge the dagger into Mycroft’s heart.  See?  Easy, once you laid out a plan…

      “Oh, Mr. Lestrade!  How dashing you look!  Mr. Holmes didn’t mention you stopping by tonight, but… oh, you’re surprising him, aren’t you, you naughty thing.  And you brought a gift!  A sweet and chocolatey gift, but the look of it, so his nibs will be very pleased.  Come in, come in…”

Mrs. Hudson was a small woman, yet had the dragging power of an ox and, in the next second, Lestrade was inside the entrance, having his topcoat and hat removed while the housekeeper used her third and fourth hands to straighten his waistcoat, check the status of his recent shave and rearrange his cravat for a more flattering presentation.

      “There.  How handsome you look.  He’s in his study, as you might expect.  In a good mood, though, because he spent a full two hours today in the conservatory and that always drains away a nice amount of his botheration.  Go on, he’ll be delighted to see you.”

Not that ‘going on’ was an option as Mrs. Hudson’s shoving power equaled that of her dragging strength and Lestrade nearly slid the distance from the front door to Mycroft’s study.  That, however, did not make knocking on that door any easier.

      “Yes?  Mrs. Hudson?”

      “Sorry, though I can don a frock if that takes your fancy.”

      “Gregory!  My dear, do come in!  I had not expected to see you, but I am overjoyed to be proved incorrect.”

Don’t look so happy, Mycroft.  Don’t look so bloody excited that I’m here, since this sweets box only hides the executioner’s axe and it’s going to fall whether I want it to or not.  _Not_ being the winning vote at this point in time.

      “Hello, love.  It’s been a few days and I’ll admit that the loneliness was getting the better of me.  And, look!  A little something to say I’ve missed you.”

      “Heavenly, simply heavenly.  You are a wonder, Gregory, and one I greatly treasure.  Here, let us retire to the library, shall we?  The chairs are more comfortable and the fire has already been laid.”

      “Perfect.  After you.”

Keep smiling, you stupid explorer.  Don’t let the joy in Mycroft’s eyes sway you from what you have to do, even though dousing the light in those beautiful eyes is going to haunt you every day and night you’re away from him.

Following Mycroft to the library, Lestrade took a few deep breaths and, when Mycroft went to take one of the chairs by the fire, Lestrade cleared his throat and nodded over towards the sofa, instead, which, added to the hint of concern that slid onto his Gregory’s face, set Mycroft’s inner alarms sounding.

      “Gregory?”

      “We… there’s something I have to tell you, love.”

With inner alarms now sounding like London was again burning, Mycroft slowly moved towards the sofa and waited for Lestrade to take his own seat.  Then followed the opening the sweets box and the pressing of an especially large morsel between Mycroft’s lips, mostly so Lestrade could blurt out his news without Mycroft having a chance to interrupt until the whole unhappy truth was out in the open.  Which occurred with a sustained burst of words that used every bit of free air in Lestrade’s lungs.

      “This isn’t the way this usually runs, Mycroft, and it took me completely by surprise.  I don’t like it, not in the slightest, but… well, there it is.”

It was a worrying few moments, which became minutes, as Mycroft sat silently on the sofa, moving not a muscle, and it was only through close inspection that Lestrade was satisfied the man was even breathing.

      “Mycroft?”

      “Yes.”

      “I… I wasn’t actually verifying your name, I was hoping to learn how you’re faring with this.”

      “I have no answer for that.”

      “Alright… I can understand that.  Want me to leave you alone, so…”

      “NO!”

Mycroft’s shout was accompanied by a frantic grabbing of Lestrade’s arm and distraught expression that immediately had Lestrade dropping the box of sweets on the floor and taking the man he loved in his arms.

      “It’s alright, Mycroft, I'm here.  I’m still here.”

Holding his Holmes while the man’s body trembled feverishly, Lestrade, hated himself for bringing this level of pain into Mycroft’s life.

      “And here you will stay.”

      “I… are you asking me not to go to Africa?”

Because if you are, I don’t think I’ll be able to say anything but yes.  Only for you, Mycroft, but for you I would stay here and never leave London again.

      “What?  No… no, I would never disgrace you and myself with such a craven request, though with my entire heart, it is what I would prefer.  I simply… do not leave here tonight, Gregory.  Or tomorrow beyond the needs of work.  We spoke of creating a home and… I would start now.  I would begin, this very night, to craft that sacred thing with you.”

Greg felt a lump form in his throat at Mycroft’s words and hugged Mycroft tighter before drawing back slightly to gaze into his brilliant blue eyes.

      “You’re not ready for that Mycroft, and you know you’re not.”

      “For… for some things, you are correct and I would not dishonor you by pretending otherwise.  But… I am for others and there is so little time, my dear.  Stay… stay tonight and simply share my rest.  That is something for which I have longed.  To have the warmth of your body near mine, though we do naught but sleep and share the gentlest of embraces before resting and after waking.  For that, I _am_ ready and cannot imagine seeing you off the accursed day of your departure with not even that simple thing to hold in my memory.”

Seeing not a hint of deception or worry in Mycroft’s eyes, Lestrade reached up to run his fingers along Mycroft’s cheek before leaning in to give him a slow, tender kiss.

      “Then, here I’ll stay.  I’ll gather my things tomorrow and make this my home until I leave.  And after I return.”

Mycroft hated, hated with a passion, that his Gregory could so easily bring tears to his eyes, but he felt them rise as the words he’d heard seemed to brand a vow into his heart, one that he treasured beyond all worldly things and was fully prepared to return in kind.

      “You home will welcome you with open arms, my dearest, for this _is_ your home from this moment forward.   These walls and this heart are forever yours.”

This kiss certainly wasn’t slow or tender, but alive with a passion that made the spying Mrs. Hudson clap her hands with glee and start planning for an enlarged number of residents in the house.  And, she’d have to remind herself, from now on, that spying through keyholes _might_ not be appropriate, given the enthusiasm the happy couple seemed to have for a bit of physical fun.  Her boys deserved their privacy for things like that and privacy they would have.  Of course, a watchful eye would still be prudent because people newly in love were the stupidest creatures on the planet and apt to make all sorts of messes unless someone older and wiser stepped in to set them back on the proper track.  And there wasn’t anyone older or wiser in this house than her.  Though the ‘older’ part wouldn’t be mentioned aloud unless someone wanted a good smack on the bum…


	27. Chapter 27

      “I shall have to ask Stamford if there are any corpses available with a hypertrophied liver in order to test my hypothesis.  If not, I shall put him on alert to notify me immediately should one arrive so that we might perform the necessary tests.”

Tell him.  Now is the perfect time.

      “I might see him tomorrow, so I’ll make inquiries.”

There was not a _speck_ of telling in that sentence, you spineless doctor.

      “Why are you seeing Stamford?”

Now!  The opening is wide and beckoning.

      “I do confer with the fellows at Bart’s when we plan an expedition, you know.”

That scarcely placed a toe across the threshold!  Bad show.  You are absolutely rubbish at communication.  Probably why you spend so much time in Africa.  Plants don’t care if you hate talking about personal things!

      “It sounds utterly boring, so I shall not even consider making myself part of the discussion.”

      “Very wise.  I know how you react when you’re bored and Bart’s does not need to be upheaved by one of Sherlock Holmes’s highly-impressive tantrums.”

      “You are confusing me with Mycroft.”

      “I am confusing you with nobody, except, perhaps, a spoiled toddler who didn’t get the toy he wanted for Christmas.”

Sherlock’s rude noise was so familiar to John by this point, he was certain he heard it in his sleep.  And it did nothing to propel him towards making the announcement that sat staunchly on the end of his tongue and refused, apparently, to make the leap out of his mouth.

      “Your blather is tedious, John.”

      “Good for me, then.”

      “That was not a compliment.”

      “If I consider it one, it is.”

      “Incorrect.”

      “This sounds like the start of one of those philosophical discussions those literary types enjoy so much.  I’m certain they’d love to have you pay your respects at one of their gatherings to throw your opinions into their learned discussion.”

      “I would rather present myself at an abattoir and request a flaying.”

      “To each his own.  Oh, looks like the distillation’s nearly complete.”

      “Excellent.  Prepare the root samples and we shall see how successful it is for extracting their innate toxins.”

Which would take the rest of the afternoon, since there were a lot of various samples and that would keep the conversation firmly away from the idea of any expeditions for the time being.  Maybe later was better, in any case.  Stop in a few streets down at the end of the day for a hearty meal and an abundance of alcohol to help the news become a bit more palatable.  He’d said he’d keep Sherlock out late, didn’t he, so Mycroft and Greg could talk?  There… making good on his word of honor.  Nothing cowardly about that.  Nothing at all.  Helping out a mate was what he was doing and that was a noble and honorable thing.  Funny… you’d think noble and honorable wouldn’t feel quite so much like quivering and cowardly, but life was a strange thing at times…

__________

      “There we are… some of the lovely ale you say tastes like the leavings in a chamberpot, but continue to quaff like a professional.”

      “It would be rude to refuse your extremely inexpensive and uncharitable gift.  I am not rude.”

      “Not at all.  Soul of kindness and courtesy.  You should enjoy my uncharitable gifts while you can, too, since I’m only here for two more… anyway, what else would you like me to ask Stamford tomorrow?”

NOW?  Now you choose to lay things bare, you ridiculous brain?  Perfect.  Simply bloody perfect… Sherlock looks like a hawk ready to pounce on a mouse and I’m the mouse…

      “That was an intentional shift in the direction of your statement.  What are you trying to hide, John?”

      “Hide?  Why would I be hiding anything?”

      “That is what I would like to know.  Consider that the second piece of information with which you might grace me before our platters of offal arrive.”

      “Sausages aren’t… alright, there’s some truth to that.”

      “John…”

There wasn’t any avoiding it now…

      “Alright.  I… I wasn’t sure when or how to tell you, but… Greg and I are leaving on expedition in two weeks.  Greg’s telling Mycroft tonight, so he knows now, too.  We just heard today, Sherlock, so I wasn’t hiding anything from you.  I just wanted to wait for the right moment.”

      “Two… two weeks?”

John knew Sherlock’s scornful and arrogant exterior hid something far softer and caring, so seeing the light dim in Sherlock’s eyes made breaking the news even harder to bear.  Sherlock _hurt_ and that was not acceptable by John’s own standards.  Not that he could do anything to change it.

      “Yes.  Apparently we can have free transport if we leave when a certain ship sails.  That will save the RGS a _very_ large amount of money and they’re not willing to let that opportunity slip through their fingers.”

      “It’s not possible.  You cannot mount a full expedition in so short a time.”

      “Greg and I said the same thing, but that’s what’s happening, all the same.”

      “I… for… for how long will you be away?”

The desperation in Sherlock’s voice… if John never heard that again, he’d die a happy man.

      “At least a year, I expect.  Most likely more, maybe even close to two, or more, since the monies saved on the ship can be used for supplies and wages.  We don’t tend to do the very long expeditions, because the RGS likes a more frequent return, which means more frequent lectures and fresh displays, but this time it’s going to be different.”

John watched Sherlock sit quietly and waited for him to process the news, growing a little worried when their meal was presented and Sherlock didn’t utter a single insult to either him or the serving girl.

      “Sherlock?”

      “Two weeks.”

      “Unfortunately, yes.”

      “I can be ready in two weeks.”

      “What?”

      “I will go with you.”

Oh no… no no no no no

      “No.  Not possible.”

      “You do not want me to go with you?”

      “Sherlock… I enjoy your company.  For _many_ reasons.  But that’s a sort of work _you_ won’t enjoy.  Not at all and I don’t want you suffering when it’s not necessary.”

      “I am not feeble!  I can endure hardships as well as any man!”

Something John sorely hoped was never actually put to the test.

      “I’m not saying you can’t.  But being able to do something and enjoying doing something are two completely different things.  Greg and I _like_ doing what we do.  It’s energizing for us and highly rewarding.  I think you’d be amazed by the new things you encountered, but miserable with the day-to-day reality of doing the work.  A lot of days are simply… walking.  And you always have to keep in mind what the RGS wants, not your personal wants, so we might not be able to, for instance, linger because you wanted to conduct some experiments or collect specimens.  And, I know you, Sherlock, that would frustrate you terribly.  You’d want to collect everything, too, and all of that would have to be carried with us until, perhaps, we visited a port where you might… might… be able to have your samples transported back to London.”

      “Mycroft would pay for whatever transport my specimens required.”

      “Perhaps, but you’re assuming there would even be a ship in port bound for London in the first place.  I’m not saying it’s impossible and maybe you could hire an agent to make arrangements and see things sorted after we continued on but… I wouldn’t lie to you, Sherlock.  If I thought you would find the experience beneficial, I’d say to start packing a trunk, but I don’t.  Talk to Greg, if you’d like, and see what his opinion is about matters.  If he thinks differently than I do, then we can discuss this further.”

Sherlock’s discontent was so thick John could hardly see through the emotion lying between them especially since the discontent was not solely because the scientist was not getting what he wanted.

      “I am not happy about this, John.”

      “Nor am I.  Believe me, Sherlock… I am _not_ happy, not at all.”

Especially since he couldn’t do a blasted thing to comfort or console the man sitting across the small table from him.  Could not give a single indication that his emotions were mirroring Sherlock’s.  Not in public.  Not allowed.

      “What… what am I to do for… a research assistant?”

There was nothing to like about having to speak in code in public places.  Not one, single, solitary thing.

      “You’re brilliant and creative and don’t mind hard work, as long as it suits your interests… you’ll manage.  It’s not forever, either.  We will return and I promise you, Sherlock, I absolutely promise you that we’ll take up directly from where we are now.  I promise you that.  I have full intentions of returning to London, knocking on your door and asking if you’re ready to continue on.”

And thank you from the depths of my being that the look in your eyes says you understand I’m not talking about our research.  You can be an oblivious rock for some things and I had no idea how to make this plainer without speaking in a way that would get us tossed out of here and into a cell.

      “I am still not happy about this.”

      “I’ll send letters when I can.  The mail service isn’t non-existent and I can generally send letters at certain points along our journey.  Not regularly, but a few, at least.  Will that help?”

      “Minimally.”

      “I’ll write lots of letters and mail you packages of them.  How about that?  Tell you about all the things we’ve done and what interesting things I collected along the way.”

      “That is better.”

      “That’s what I’ll do then.  I’ll bring plenty of paper with me and lots of pencils.  And, who knows… maybe your brother will finance an expedition and send you and me off to parts unknown to have our own adventure.   You can talk to him about that while I’m gone.  I suspect he’d agree if you present a substantial case that it would benefit you.”

      “Hmmmm… that is not an entirely untenable suggestion.”

      “And we’ll continue to talk about this, Sherlock.  I won’t have a great deal of free time between now and when we sail, but… I’ll make certain that the free moments I have are spent doing important things, like our work.”

‘Work’ said with a pointed tone that let Sherlock know that work was certainly not the main point of the comment.  And he would make time for Sherlock, there was no question about it.  There would be precious little of it, but he would make the most of that time in whatever manner Sherlock needed for reassurance that this was simply an interruption and not a termination of whatever they were building.  In fact, since he’d learned the date of their departure, certain things had come into much sharper focus and there was no doubt he would ache terribly being away from Sherlock.  He ached _already_ from the very idea of such a thing and that was evidence enough for what would be the path of his and Sherlock’s relationship when he returned from Africa.

      “Very well.  Since it is unlikely I could see matters changed… that will have to be sufficient.”

      “Alright, then… eat your sausages and then we can do a bit of planning for our research.  Planning and ale go together very well, I think.”

      “Do you remember the experimental protocol you outlined the last time you drank freely of this swill?”

      “It was… creative.”

      “It would have brought about, at minimum, rampant death due to multiple unleashed plagues.”

      “What’s not creative about that?”

      “Drink your ale.”

__________

      “Ah, Mrs. Hudson…”

      “I already know.”

Mycroft sighed and wondered why he had ever imagined that would not be the case.

      “Alright, in that case, would you prepare for Gregory a room, even if it is only to preserve the appearance of propriety and for him to have space for his dressing and grooming?”

      “Done that.”

      “Oh.  Highly efficient of you.”

      “Had to do something to keep myself busy while you two were…”

Lip puckering was hereby forbidden in this household, unless it was performed by himself or his Gregory.

      “Yes, well, do not fear that Gregory and I shall continue to insult your sensibilities with flagrant displays of affection.”

      “I wouldn’t mind that, actually.  Be as frequent as you like.”

      “Ah.  Yes.  Well, I believe my statement still holds.  And do notify Cook that there shall be an extra at mealtime, at least for…”

Mrs. Hudson quickly reached out and squeezed Mycroft’s arm, as his eyes lowered and his shoulders slumped slightly, something she suspected her employer completely failed to notice.

      “Two weeks, I know.  It’s not forever, Mr. Holmes.  Mr. Lestrade _will_ be back and… you know how busy you generally are with all your government nonsense, so the time is simply going to fly by.  Positively race along, it will, then he’ll be back and it will be as if he never left.  The only problem I foresee is… well, your brother is going to be a vexation, more so than he usually is, but that will simply add to your distraction, so I suppose that might actually be considered a good thing.”

Sherlock… Gregory said John was speaking to him, but more would be required, there was no doubt.  Regardless of the pain in his heart, there would ever be enough fortitude in it to spare for his brother and to listen to whatever troubles Sherlock felt comfortable expressing.

      “Perhaps you are right.  It is not as if the world, or Sherlock, ceases its lunacy and both shall require my continuous oversight lest all fall to ruin.”

      “And we common people thank you for it.  Now, do you have anything to tell me that I don’t already know or are you going upstairs for the night.”

Winking is also, now, forever prohibited.

      “We shall be retiring, yes.  Gregory’s belongings will arrive tomorrow, so if you would find for him the appropriate nightclothes…”

      “Already done.  There’s… well, there’s what I could find waiting in his bedroom, which is the one across from yours.”

      “Thank you.  Breakfast at my normal hour, I believe.”

      “Sure about that?  All sorts of lovely things can happen when you wake with a handsome man in the bed with you.”

      “My normal hour shall be fine.”

      “Alright, but don’t be angry with me if you suffer cold eggs.”

Villainous woman.  And he had more than sufficient funds to feed any hypothetical cold eggs to the eternally-ravenous Toby and order a fresh portion be delivered to table.  And, of course, for Gregory, as well.  How delightful that he had the means to support the impressive appetite of his beloved.  Needless to say, Gregory would not permit being kept perpetually by those means, so a financial formula would have to be crafted to ensure his dearest’s pride was fully satisfied.  Yet another thing on which to devote attention while he lamented the loss of his love to the deepest jungle…

__________

Hopefully, however, the deepest jungle did not see this…

      “Gregory, what on Earth…”

Lestrade strolled, somewhat, into Mycroft’s bedroom clad in what appeared to be leagues of white linen that, as Mycroft quickly recognized, was actually one of his own nightshirts.  Gregory was certainly a… small man, by comparison…

      “I think Mrs. Hudson was a bit at a loss, because Sherlock’s nightshirts would scarcely have gone over my head and the only other option was one of yours.”

And do hold it up like a skirt as you walk, my dear, so you do not trip and suffer a skull fracture.  Why must I insist on nightshirts that cover my damnable ankles!  Gregory shall be murdered by my nightclothes and that will not be a beneficial outcome for our intimate behaviors.

      “Do be careful, Gregory.”

      “I will, I will… just let me toddle over here and find my side of this rather impressive bed.  With the rather impressive man in it.”

Mycroft had been somewhat calm until now, but as he realized that in a handful of seconds, he would be lying next to Lestrade, his calm dissolved like a lump of sugar in scalding tea.  Gregory would share his bed.  And share it henceforth.  Yes, barring his absence, but… this was now _their_ bed.  The thought was terrifying, astounding and jubilant, which made for somewhat a cacophonous racket in his mind.  However, dear Gregory need not know a thing about it.

      “Nervous, love?”

Of course.

      “Not nervous, per se, simply… anticipative.”

      “Me, too.  So, I’ll sit a moment and test the mattress…”

      “Gregory… must you bounce?”

      “Yes.”

      “Very well.  Carry on.”

      “Hmmmm… good so far.  Got some softness, but not so much you sink in it like quicksand, but not so firm, it’s like sleeping on a marble floor.  Excellent choice, my dear Mycroft.”

It was a typical bit of the explorer’s silliness, but Mycroft still felt a spark of pride in earning Lestrade’s approval for his mattress choice.

      “Thank you.  I… I had not given any thought to the comfort you might or might not experience, I’m afraid.  That was remiss of me.”

      “Given everything that’s weighing on your mind, it wasn’t remiss at all.”

Lestrade spun a little so he was sitting on the bed, legs crossed in front of him, facing the man who was propped by a few pillows and looking positively radiant from the slightly-nervous glow on his skin.

      “And I apologize for being the one who’s given you the weighty mind.  Whatever I can do to make this easier for you, love, I’ll do.”

Laying his hand on Mycroft’s leg, Lestrade squeezed it gently and smiled at the slight gasp.  Even through a blanket, bed linens and a nightshirt, a simple touch was enough to shock his prim and proper bedmate.  What a delightful man and one he was already desperate to return to, even though he was still within that man’s long-fingered reach.

      “I know you will, Gregory, and I know this situation is not of your making.  I suppose… there is a cost to be paid for everything is there not?  I have found the most heavenly man in existence and I should not be so foolish to think that there would not be some price for that good fortune.  It is one, however, that I pay willingly, if not gladly, for you are worth any wait.  Any heartache or heaviness of mind.”

But his dear Mycroft was suffering, something that tore a hole in Lestrade’s chest and, unfortunately, it was one that would not be healed for a very long time.  Maybe… maybe it was time to begin thinking about the path of his life.  Exploring new places was brilliant, positively brilliant, but he’d also never had anyone to be left behind while he was off chasing his own dreams.  Strangely, the adventure of being in love and embarking on a markedly different road was growing in appeal and… well, he wasn’t young anymore and he couldn’t continue on this way forever.  It might be time to consider starting a new chapter, one that chronicled the journey of two grown men as they made a life for themselves against all expectations.  Something to think about, at least.  He’d have a lot of time to think while he was away and… yeah, thinking was good.  For this, thinking was _very_ good.

      “Well, put all of that aside for now and let’s learn how much sleep you can manage with a fantastically-handsome man in bed with you.”

Oh, that lovely pink that paints your cheeks, Mycroft Holmes… it’s a beautiful color and I’m going to do my best to find some flowers in exactly that shade to plant in the conservatory, so I can have my fill of that particular pink whenever it suits me.  Which will be often.

      “I… I have no doubt I shall sleep soundly, given the safety and security of your virile form and fighting acumen.  Woe be unto him who disturbs my rest for he shall be vigorously thrashed.”

Orated in Mycroft most dramatic voice, something which made Lestrade laugh loudly and the performer join in after he lowered the finger he had used to point to the sky to punctuate his recitation.

      “I will happily be your protector, love.  Anyone sneaks in to steal your sweets or a few kisses from that lovely mouth and I’ll make certain they see, and feel, the error of their ways.  Now, I’ll arrange myself in this very comfortable bed… and nightshirt… so…”

Mycroft smiled as Lestrade, very elaborately, moved bed coverings, pretended to teeter on the mattress edge, and finally nestle himself cozily in the space next to Mycroft.

      “… oh yes.  Very nice.  I’d hope my Mycroft had the best in life and this bed certainly qualifies as the best, doesn’t it?  Why don’t we see it properly christened?  Kiss for an old explorer, kind sir?”

Mycroft made his own show of seriously considering the proposition, complete with much beard stroking and grave hmmmmm-ing, before rearranging his own pillows so that he could lie next to his old explorer and comply with his wishes.  Having a kiss, in bed, with his beloved Gregory, garmented only in a layer of fine linen… this was surely one of the greatest pleasures life could offer.  Oh dear, Gregory was budging closer…

      “Ummmm… delicious.  Your kisses are delicious, Mr. Holmes, and it’s a blessing to be able to feel your body with a bit less in the way than your majestic day clothes.”

Staying very much in the area of arms, neck and face, Lestrade indulged himself a bit and soaked up Mycroft’s small, pleasured sigh like a plant soaked up sunshine.

      “Have I ever told you have a wonderful body, Mycroft?  You do.  Everything about you says ‘this is a man of consequence.”  Your voice, your bearing, the glint in your eye and this truly magnificent body.  I remember the first night I saw you… your body did things to me, Mycroft.  Gave me a special tingle seeing you sitting there, looking so utterly breathtaking.  I scarcely noticed anyone else in the room, so blinded was I by how grand you looked.”

Must not swoon!  He was not a virginal female!  Well… not a female, at least.

      “That… that is terribly kind of you, my dear.”

      “Just honest.  You’re a marvel to me, love, in so many ways.  I see you and feel the world melt away around me.  Just you and me exist, rather like being here with you now.  And, let me see…”

Greg shuffled a little closer, until he was pressed lightly against Mycroft’s belly and chest, something that set Mycroft’s nerves soaring again.

      “… oh yes.  This is positively how I expected it to be.  Feeling your warmth, knowing the press against my skin isn’t from layers of hearty wool… simply enjoying you.  And your _you_ is a very pleasing thing, Mr. Holmes.”

Something Lestrade made certain to emphasize with a small, slow slide of his body against Mycroft’s, gaining a scandalized gasp as his reward.

      “Gregory!”

Lestrade giggled at Mycroft’s shock and gave him another slow slide to make the shock worthwhile.

      “You are irrepressible, Gregory Lestrade!”

      “I am and you get all of that irrepressibility for yourself.  Actually, I’m simply testing how it’s going to be when you wrap around me in your sleep and I nestle into those warm arms of yours… I have to say, it’s going to be a joy.”

      “I… I do not… wrap.”

      “How do you know?”

      “I… I assume one would know such a thing about one’s self.”

      “I’d say unless you’ve had someone to wrap around, you wouldn’t have a single idea if you’re a wrapper or not.”

      “Then your assumption that I will demonstrate that behavior is invalid since you have never shared my bed.”

      “Incorrect.  I _know_ things.”

      “Do you?”

      “Oh yes.  And one of the things I know is that you’re going to capture me during the night and I’m going to spend my time warm and cozy against my dear Mycroft.”

      “Balderdash.”

      “Wager?”

      “What might you suggest?”

      “You win, I’ll escort you to dinner again before I leave.”

      “The same restaurant?”

      “Your choice.”

      “Hmmmm… and if you win our wager?”

      “I get to do what you’ve already done.”

      “Which would be?”

      “Run a hand along your shoulders.  Across your chest.  On very bare, _very_ beautiful skin.”

Mycroft reacted exactly as Lestrade expected.  As if he’d had the cover lifted from his sweets box and found a live snake.  It was glorious.

      “Gregory…”

      “If that’s too much for you, love…”

Greg smiled comfortingly at Mycroft because he partly suspected that might cross his Holmes’s line, but there was no knowing without trying.  For his part, Mycroft’s internals were shrieking at him but it was about evenly divided as to the parts that wanted to leap at the chance and the parts that wanted to state, very emphatically in fact, that he was not ready for such… intimacy.  But, he was, in truth.  He craved the feel of Gregory’s hands on his skin as much as he feared it, but the fear centered on his own inner conviction that such things were somehow… wrong.  No, that was the correct term.  More that it was _disallowed_ , but that was demonstrably untrue.  He had reveled in the touch of Gregory’s body and the skies had not fallen.  And they were cocooned in the safety of their own bed in their own home… besides, Gregory would not be winning this particular wager, so the point was moot.

      “It is not.  I agree to your terms and, I have no doubt, I shall emerge victorious.”

      “Then we have a bet.  And I’m ready to see it started.  It’s getting hard to hold my eyes open and I have a long day tomorrow.”

      “You do need to rest, my dear, and I shall trust that it shall be an undisturbed one.”

      “Except you capturing me like a fox captures a hare.”

      “A figment of your rather overheated imagination.”

      “We’ll see.”

      “That we will.”

__________

Oh dear…

      “Ummmm… oh, that’s nice.  That’s wondrously, perfectly nice.  Especially since I win.”

Gregory was as ensnared as a fish in a net and he was the net!

      “Told you that you’d capture me.  Wrap me in those big, strong arms of yours and pull me close like a doll you want to cuddle.”

Which was exactly what he had done.  Gregory’s back… and backside… was drawn against him and his traitorous arms were holding the man as if he was struggling to escape.  Which Gregory was not.  He was… wriggling.  Pressing himself even more snugly against the body holding him firmly.  Villain.

      “I… I do not remember doing this!”

      “I knew you would.  Once that brain of yours had a chance to sleep, your body would get the chance to act without its naysaying.  And what it wants has never been in question, has it?”

No, no it had not.  It had wanted its Gregory since nigh on the onset of their acquaintance and it had capitalized on the opportunity presented.  Gregory was a villain and so was his own physique.  Delightful.  Only his mind remained on the moral high ground.  Not that was, necessarily, a good thing.  In actuality… Gregory felt like his fondest dream made real, lying here against him… so solid and emitting the most sultry quantity of heat… with his exposed neck simply begging for a kiss…

      “Oh, that’s my answer without saying a word.  And what an answer it is.  Feel free to continue on, dear sir, and I’ll just lay here happily while you indulge.”

And indulge he would.  This felt so utterly right and natural… Gregory in his arms, the bed scented with their combined aroma, the spicy saltiness of Gregory’s neck was the finest flavor a man could sample… and, oh dear… he was… his hand was roaming!  If there was not a perfectly proper nightshirt guarding the succulent flesh of Gregory’s body, his hand would be learning the feel his beloved’s chest and stomach in their full glory.  And glory was the truth of it… the sight had been rapturous and this escalated that rapture to indescribable heights.  And the sounds his dear Gregory was making… the rapture was obviously a shared one.

      “So good, love… that feels unbelievably good.  You make my blood feel like pure fire flowing in my veins.”

For all the power he wielded, this was, by far, the most satisfying… his Gregory’s pleasure was a joy, a privilege, an honor to… oh… oh no… no no no no no… this was catastrophic… despicable… HE HAD TOUCHED GREGORY’S AGITATION!  Which existed!  Rather robustly, too…

      “Oh Gregory… I do apologize.  That was profoundly inappropriate of me.  I… I am deeply sorry… dear me… that was indescribably horrid of me…”

Lestrade grinned, grabbed Mycroft’s wandering hand and gave it a kiss.

      “Told you my blood was raging.  That happy fellow is just proof of it.  He’s demanding this morning, too, so I’ll have to tend to him or I’ll never have a moment’s peace.  Want to watch?”

Mycroft’s strangled squawk widened the explorer’s grin and he silently giggled at his bedmate’s prim sensibilities.

      “GREGORY!”

      “What?”

      “You… that… that is not done.  Not done at all.”

      “Yes it is.”

      “No… the doctors themselves have determined that it is a quick and clear road to madness.”

      “That could be true, because I’m rather fond of a bit of tending and I’m certainly not right in my head, but since I’m already lost to insanity… want to watch?”

      “That… you are?”

      “Are what?”

      “F…fond.”

Giggling out loud would hurt his Mycroft’s feelings, so Lestrade let his laughter ring out in his head and not in the bedroom.

      “Very.  I admit, when I was a lad, such was what I heard, too, when anyone mentioned _that_ at all, but with a life’s worth of travel under my belt, I can say that it’s not an idea that’s held world round.”

      “Oh… I see.”

      “Not yet, but if you’d like to, I can make that happen.”

      “GREGORY!”

      “You’re adorable when you’re shocked.”

      “I… that…”

Lestrade turned and Mycroft squawked again, sharp and loudly, feeling his explorer’s rigid erection press against his belly.

      “Or, we can just have a lovely morning’s kiss and I’ll wait until I’m alone to send my enjoyable problem back to sleep.”

      “I…”

      “Want to kiss while you think?”

Mycroft nodded slightly, though his unfocused eyes told Lestrade his Mycroft’s brain was actually involved in much more erotic lines of calculation.  Which was an excellent thing, in his opinion.  It kept dear Mycroft busy while he laid soft kisses on his partner’s lips and let his body writhe just a bit to warm Mycroft’s core even more hotly.

      “This is what life’s about, I think.  Waking with the person you love and starting your day being able to show them just how deeply you care.  And how utterly arousing you find them.  Really, there’s nothing better.  And I slept well!  Haven’t forgotten our wager, either, but I think I’ll collect tonight when I’m, once again, in your arms.  So… ready to rise?”

Mycroft looked rather confusedly into Lestrade’s eyes and shook his head fractionally as if not at all certain why the explorer had posed his question.

      “No.”

      “Oh, alright.  Always happy to lie in bed a few extra minutes.  And I’ve got someone here to help pass the time.  A bit more kissing, perhaps?  Or you can tell me what you have planned for your day?”

Watching Mycroft struggle to speak and clear his throat, Lestrade did everything he could not to smile, but failed miserably.

      “Or… I can give myself a bit of relief from all that pesky… pressure and my Mycroft can have a show.”

      “Y… yes… but…”

      “Maybe not as much of a show as he might get a touch father ahead in time?”

      “Please.”

His dear Mycroft was trying so hard to press through his inhibitions and Lestrade renewed his vow never to push the man he loved faster than he was comfortable traveling.

      “I have just the thing, then.  And it’s brilliant that I’m wearing this gorgeous gown, too, because you’ll get a nice modest show, perfect for one’s first morning with a very randy explorer.”

Lying on his back, Lestrade made sure to keep his eyes on Mycroft as he ran a hand under the substantial volume of linen of the nightshirt, which kept the most interesting bits covered for his Mycroft’s comfort, but allowed generous freedom of movement to give himself a very tidy amount of pleasure.  And pleasure it was, too… just seeing the pupils of Mycroft’s dilate shot a surge of lust through him that drew a small moan from his lips, that grew louder when he began stroking his very rigid cock.

      “I’ve done this thinking about you, love.  More than a few times.”

      “Th… thinking?”

      “Without doubt.  Thought about your hand touching me, or me stroking myself while I… oh, that’s good… while I sucked your cock.”

That sent his Mycroft’s eyes straight to black.  His dear Holmes very much liked that idea… fuck, but that was fantastic…

      “S…sucked?”

      “Um hmm….  licked and sucked until your release streamed down my throat.”

      “Gr… Gregory… oh my dear Gregory…”

      “I think about touching you, feeling your skin…”

Mycroft had no conscious awareness of unfastening the tie at the top of his nightshirt, or drawing it open at the neck so Lestrade’s free hand could reach in and feel his chest, which it did as soon as the invitation was offered.

      “Oh god… I love your body, Mycroft.  So… so bloody amazing…”

Mycroft’s breath came fast and hard as he watched Lestrade stroke himself beneath his nightshirt and shuddered at the feel of the explorer’s hands running over his naked skin.  When, finally, Lestrade gasped loudly, arching his back as his orgasm hit, the loudest moan in the room was from Mycroft, who was mesmerized by the wet stain he watched spreading on the borrowed nightshirt.

      “So… so good.  Yes, that was... given myself a pearly shower up to my neck!  God almighty, but that was fantastic.  And you… come here, love…”

Lestrade slid his hand up from Mycroft’s chest to his neck and gently drew him down for a kiss that demonstrated better than words how much pleasure was threading through the explorer’s bones and how desperately he wanted to share it with the man that inspired that level of passion in even a simple bit of fun.

      “I love you, Mycroft.  I love you deeply, passionately and forever.”

And the completely stunned and shattered look on his Mycroft’s face was the most beautiful sight a man could ever hope to see, because propping it all up was the most blissful and lustful storm of emotion that painted his Mycroft’s eyes with the color of thunderclouds waiting to lay waste to the world below.

      “You… Gregory… I have never seen the like.  I have never _imagined_ such a sight…”

Running his hand back inside Mycroft’s nightshirt to play with the bountiful forest of chest hair that had added its own special thrill to his arousal, Lestrade hummed contentedly and kissed his beloved once more to savor Mycroft’s astonishment.

      “Because of you.  You have no idea how powerfully you affect me, do you, love?  How you own me, body and soul, and I crave everything about you.  Your touch, your scent, the sound of your voice, the feel of your breath on my skin… when you’re ready, Mycroft, I’ll show you the very depths of what you do to me and do whatever is possible to have you feel the same thing.”

Something that shot like an arrow directly into Mycroft’s core and lodged itself into his chest.  He _would_ be ready… not today, maybe not tomorrow, but he was but a step or two away and he would share with his Gregory the ecstasy he’d witnessed in his love’s face when his passions crested.  Gregory would not leave for Africa without knowing his body and without _him_ knowing, fully, the joy of his beloved’s majestic form.

      “That time _shall_ arrive, my dear, and sooner, perhaps, than even I anticipated.  You were breathtaking, Gregory and I… I am not entirely satisfied with being only a spectator to your rhapsody.”

The excitement and wickedness of his Gregory’s smile burned away the last of Mycroft’s worries and, when the moment was right, which seemed to be quickly approaching… he and Gregory would share their love in a fantastically-physical way.  And he would enjoy it greatly.

      “Simply let me know and whatever you want, I’ll see you get.  As often and vigorously as you prefer.”

      “Then we have an accord.”

      “That we do.  And I collected my winnings!  Think I can still have a little feel tonight when we’re back in this wonderful bed?”

      “I believe ‘little’ shall be a poor term for what I might grant.”

      “Have I told you yet this morning that I love you?”

      “It is hard to know, for my hearing is failing in my dotage.  Once again?”

      “I love you, Mycroft.”

      “And I love you, Gregory.”

      “Bet you’d love me more if I got out of bed and had a little wash.”

      “I was not going to mention it, however…”

      “One washed explorer on the way!  Can’t have you looking over at me across the breakfast table and I’ve got a dab of something filthy and self-created on my chin.”

      “GREGORY!”

      “You’re very loud, but I still love you.”

      “My mind is changing on the subject of mutual affection.”

      “You can rub my stubble.”

Mycroft pouted grandly, then ran his fingers across Lestrade’s chin, adoring the rugged appearance and sensation of his unshaven bedmate.

      “My mind is correcting course.”

      “Race you to breakfast?”

      “I do not race.”

      ‘I’ll let you win.”

      “The race is on.”

__________

Being glared at during breakfast was a normal thing for Mycroft, but it was new for Lestrade and he found it a surprisingly energizing thing.  Especially with John sighing every few minutes to accompany Sherlock’s periodic hisses.  The two had spent the entire night talking and decided that a full breakfast, expertly prepared, was exactly the thing needed to bring some comfort to their distress.  Apparently, a bit _more_ was needed in Sherlock’s case.

      “Here?”

      “Yes, brother.  Gregory shall reside here until he departs and, again, when he returns.  This is now _our_ home.”

      “You have polluted our residence with the stench of his buffoonery and ridiculous braggadocio.”

      “It is preferable to the standard malodor from your experiments.”

      “I demand recompense.”

      “Very well…”

Mycroft plucked a piece of bacon and tossed it across the table and onto Sherlock’s plate, impressing Lestrade and John with the accuracy of his aim.

      “Insufficient.”

      “Then return it.”

      “No.”

      “Shall I add a spoon of jam to the reparations?”

      “No.  You shall add… John.”

      “Pardon?”

Lestrade and John shared a look, though it was Lestrade who gleaned Sherlock’s meaning first and began to grin, which further confounded the doctor.

      “If Lestrade can defile our doorstep, so can John.”

Finally, John saw the end of this particular road and tried desperately to steer his carriage off into the shrubbery.

      “No!  No… no, Sherlock, I am _not_ going to live here.”

      “Yes you are John, do be quiet.”

John threw his hands in the air but, as both Lestrade and Mycroft noted, didn’t turn his temper truly to a blistering level.

      “Brother dear, if Doctor Watson wishes to continue his tenure at the RGS lodgings, then it is not for you to disagree.”

      “John shall stay here so that whatever free hours he has available shall be spent within steps of our laboratory.”

The older men shared a look at the term ‘our,’ but John was too deep in pondering how his life got to this point to have caught the slip.

      “I will aver that there are sufficient bedrooms for Doctor Watson to make use of one, however, it shall be by his choice and his alone.”

      “Then it is decided.  John shall bring his belongings this very day and Mrs. Hudson will have the room next to mine prepared to receive him.”

      “Can I have any say in this matter, Sherlock?”

      “Whatever else could you add, John?  I believe I have stated your position most succinctly.”

This time, Lestrade’s laughter escaped containment and he earned a flung bit of bread in the face as his reward.  John’s aim was also admirable, so a soft projectile was actually a kindness.

      “Very well.  I shall direct Mrs. Hudson to have a room prepared and if, _if_ , Doctor Watson chooses to make use of it until their departure, I shall offer no objection.”

Sherlock snorted loudly but considered the matter closed, leaving John to wonder what it would feel like to have Sherlock’s body beneath him… as he pummeled the very life out of the massive tit.

      “We _will_ be discussing this, Sherlock.”

      “Drink your tea, John.  Your humors are far more agreeable when you do.”

Under the table, Lestrade reached out with his foot and rubbed Mycroft’s ankle, smiling at the smirk he received from his target.  Having another body under the roof wasn’t really a hardship and, given that body was John’s, Sherlock would be kept nicely occupied and out of the hair of the two men who planned on making full use of these final few days of togetherness.  In more than a single room of the house.  Likely, more than once a day… 


	28. Chapter 28

      “You’re still awake?”

Mycroft looked up from the document he was studying and smiled gently at the thoroughly bedraggled explorer who stood in the doorway of his study.

      “Often at this time, I am afraid.  However, it does allow me, as an ancillary benefit to greet you this night… morning… as you return from your work.  How arduous was your day, Gregory?”

Lestrade walked into the study and dropped into one of the chairs across from Mycroft’s desk with a heaviness that said ‘arduous’ was a kind description of the day’s toil.

      “Perishingly.  As in I literally believed I might perish, at times.  They’re mad!  They’re simply mad to think we can bring this together, but… I have to say that if you fairly work round the clock and put enough hands on the task, a lot can be done in two weeks.  In a day even.  It’s just… it’s a brutal thing.”

Though he was all too familiar with the rigors of a demanding position, it broke Mycroft’s heart that his Gregory had to suffer such a thing, before, even, he set one foot out of London.

      “Have you eaten?”

      “Had little bits here and there.”

      “Then let me ring for…”

      “Don’t wake anyone for me, Mycroft.  I’d never deprive anyone of their sleep for the reason of cutting a loaf of bread for me.  Besides, I’m too tired to eat.  I’m too tired to live, truth be told.  Think if I just die right here Sherlock will use my body for science?”

      “Undoubtedly.  In fact, I would demand it, for I know how greatly you value providing the academic community with information to study.”

      “Thank you, love.  You’re too kind.”

      “Might I suggest, however, that you take yourself to bed before you are visited by the Grim Reaper?”

      “That’s a good idea.  It’s probably easier for him to reap me if I’m laying down than slumped in a chair.  Why make more work for a bloke who has enough already?”

      “Your magnanimous spirit does you credit.”

      “Thanks!  Are you joining me?”

Mycroft felt a lovely frisson run through him at the ease with which Lestrade posed his question.  Already they were falling into domestic patterns!

      “Shortly, I believe.  I have some matters to finish before retiring, but I shall not be overly long with them.”

      “Alright then…”

Struggling as if he was attempting to lift a mountain, Lestrade made it out of his chair and continued the forward motion to fall towards Mycroft’s desk, stopping his descent with two hands flat on the desktop so he could grin at his Holmes and make small motions with his lips that Mycroft had no difficulty interpreting.  Or rewarding.

      “Oh, my day is suddenly much better.  Kiss from my Mycroft and all is right in my world.  Don’t make it too late an evening, love.  Amazing men like you need sleep, too.”

One quick kiss to Mycroft’s nose and Lestrade was taking his leave of the study, stretching his back as he walked.  Old man with an old man’s body.  Fortunately, he knew someone who loved this old man’s body, so his complaints on the matter amounted to naught.  Of course, if this was the pattern for every of his remaining nights in London, Mycroft wouldn’t have much opportunity to take advantage of this old body and that _was_ something about which to complain.  Maybe there were a few more bodies, live ones, hiding in the RGS somewhere that could get conscripted for their preparations.  More hands made for lighter work and that meant more time for naughty, physical fun.  It wasn’t a luxury, either… really it was a necessity.  A body needed love as much as it needed food and water.  Had to be… he’d read that in a book somewhere.  Probably.  If not, it _should_ have been and maybe he’d be the one to write that book once he returned home…

__________

      “Sherlock, why are you in my bedroom?”

John had relented on the issue of taking a room at Mycroft’s house on the condition that Sherlock not consider him a live-in slave.  Not sitting on his bed, glaring, _also_ should have been a condition of residency.

      “Waiting for you.  You are late.”

      “No, I’m not because I never said when I was going to return. “

      “You implied it would be the same day you departed.  That is not the case.”

      “Greg and I had a punishing day, Sherlock.  I really don’t need you adding to the weight on my shoulders.  What I _do_ need is your arse moving itself from my bed so mine can actually take its place.”

      “Incorrect.  We need to begin our next experiment.”

      Your incorrect is incorrect.  _I_ need to begin what sleep I can find before Greg’s pulling me out of bed to start another day in hell.”

      “No.”

      “Sherlock… I told you and I promise, on my word of honor, that any time I can give you I will.  I _want_ to, Sherlock, I truly, truly do.  But right now, I can scarcely keep my eyes open and I wouldn’t be any good to you if we started new tests.  Today was… there was a lot of running in circles, but I think we have a better idea how to steer this nightmare in a positive direction, so maybe tomorrow won’t be so draining.”

      “That is not satisfactory.”

      “It has to be.”

      “You appear as if you are being measured for your casket.”

      “Sorry to insult your eyes.”

Sherlock’s ferocious scowl had John opening his mouth for another retort, but there was too much in that scowl that looked like concern for him to let it fly.  Sherlock might be frustrated they weren’t working together tonight, but he was also frustrated that the reason was _his_ being worked near to death.  Sherlock never failed to make things difficult, but he also made it difficult to be terribly upset about that for very long.

      “It is a cross I shall have to bear.  I suppose if you are useless to me now, I should further waste my night by liberating some of the contents of Cook’s larder and seeing you do not die of hunger and make yourself not only useless to me, but an additional burden to Mrs. Hudson, who will enact her peevish vengeance on me at her earliest opportunity for adding the removal of your moldering corpse to her day’s work.”

If that was not a clear statement of concern and worry, nothing in this world could possibly be.

      “Raiding the larder would be a wonderful thing, thank you very much.  Shall I join you so you don’t have to tiptoe through the house with your purloined foodstuffs?”

      “That is a surprisingly efficient suggestion.”

      “I have one now and again.”

      “We shall work on improving the frequency of their emergence.”

      “I look forward to it.”

__________

Dear Gregory… sleeping so soundly.  In our bed.  Our bed.  And once again, because it sounds so magical, even within the confines of this mind… _our_ bed.  Looking as dashing and beguiling as any of the heroes of the adventure tales penned by novelists to excite the imagination of their readers.  Not even the tiny tendril of moisture at the side of your mouth detracts from the image.

Climbing into bed with as much delicacy as he was able, Mycroft kept a close watch that his motions didn’t disturb the rest of his bedmate and breathed a small sigh of relief when he was fully nestled beneath his blanket and linens without the slightest distressed twitch coming from the peaceful sleeper.  The poor man, so utterly exhausted and his trials had just begun.  And it would be _his_ duty to make those trials as bearable as possible.  See him fed, rested, supported in any manner necessary.  Gregory would likely balk at channeling a measure of household funds towards the preparation of his expedition, even if to hire additional workers to relieve his love of some of the load to be borne, but… an anonymous donation towards his Gregory’s objectives would not promote domestic disharmony.  Such a thing was not at all unheard of, and wouldn’t the RGS be delighted to see their unflagging efforts towards advancing the supremacy of Britain’s cultural and academic status rewarded by a grateful supporter.

So, beginning tomorrow… oh.  Oh dear.  Gregory, you have shifted position and your hand is now resting on my stomach.  That cannot be comfortable.  You are now on your own stomach with your arm raised at a perilous angle so that your hand can reside at the apex of my belly which is quite… high.  In comparison to yours, it is a veritable mountain.  Your shoulder will be wrest from its socket!  Perhaps I should… I have no idea.  Gregory shall suffer shoulder strain and my stomach shall be the perpetrator of his pain!  That cannot stand unaddressed.  But how to address it without disturbing his love’s much-needed slumber?  Ah… a little budge towards the foot of the bed and Gregory’s hand is now… trying to follow my belly.  He is contorted even more tortuously!  Budge back, budge back quickly… there, original contortion restored.

Another solution would have to be affected.  Well, there was the efficacious route of simply removing the hand in question, however, that would _remove_ the hand in question and… it was pleasant.  Gregory’s large, warm hand on his stomach was a _highly_ pleasant sensation and what a loathsome thing was the idea of losing this delicious bit of contact.  Perhaps… just a small tribulative wriggle of the finger in Gregory’s axillary region and… success!  A small reconfiguration to lie you on your side, which appears far more comfortable and… oh.  You have moved closer to me and you are… rubbing my stomach.  Covetously, at that.  Like a miser rubbing the lid of his chest of gold.  And, is that… it is.  The wisp of a contented smile on your lips as you indulge in whatever dream plays through your mind as your hands caress your treasure.

Well… this was a rather splendid turn of events.  Gregory had taken great pleasure from the feel of his chest and now another anatomical feature could be added to that laudable rank.  Of course, there had been bare skin contact when Gregory ran eager hands over his chest and now there was a blanket, sheet and nightshirt between them… oh dear, Gregory’s hand looked most chilled.  Veritably frozen from the night’s cold… cool… not scalding air.  Perhaps a small slide of bedlinens down, while holding Gregory’s hand ever so tenderly so it could rest more closely to heat-producing flesh and… ah.  Now, only a nightshirt existed between them and without the extra bulk of the blanket, his beloved looked far more contented with his prize.  And… my it was rather a lovely thing to have one’s stomach rubbed, especially by such a rugged and virile man as Gregory.

      “Someone likes a belly rub.”

ACK!

      “GREGORY!”

      “Were you expecting someone else?”

      “I… that is…”

      “You thought I was still asleep.”

      “I… yes.”

      “I was, until I wasn’t and found myself rubbing this truly magnificent belly like I was polishing one of those magic lamps they talk about in the stories.  Mind if I continue?”

That impish gleam in your eye Gregory Lestrade tells me you are highly aware I made your touch a more personal thing and that you find the situation both exceedingly amusing and deliciously pleasurable.

      “Please do.  I would hate to deny you something you so clearly enjoy.”

And deny myself this new joy in life.

      “You’re very kind.   And this is very wonderful.  Of course, I’m afraid if you roll over tonight, my hands will start doing the same to that luscious bottom of yours, so you might want to stay on your back until I’m well and truly fast asleep and save yourself from my semi-awake fondling.”

Mycroft froze in place for a few seconds, then hmmmm’ed gravely, removed Lestrade’s hand, took a deep breath and rolled over onto his stomach, wriggling slightly to make the very unfamiliar position as comfortable as possible.

      “I am waiting.”

After hesitating a long moment to give Mycroft time to rethink or to catch some indication of worry, Lestrade, seeing nothing amiss, followed his beloved’s command.  Not that it was a hardship… oh, he had dreamed of this and Mycroft’s bottom was even more glorious than he ever imagined.  Large and proud and so very happy for admiring fingers to run across it, even with the nightshirt serving as chaperone.  That rumbly hum was nothing if not pleased, and highly, at that.

Of course, from Mycroft’s standpoint, he didn’t hear the slightest noise coming from his lips because he was spiraling into a maelstrom of pleasure that was overwhelming all possible attempts at thought, let alone intrusions into his awareness of questions concerning propriety or decency.  Gregory was fondling his bottom!  Caressing, squeezing, tantalizing his skin the most exceptional fashion!  Oh this was incomparably salacious and the most… incomparable meant unable to be compared, you deficient brain!   Cease your attempts at categorization, comparison and definition.  Gregory is gifting you with ecstasy, so douse the flames of your mind and focus upon it!

      “Oooohhhhhh…. your arse is a masterpiece, Mr. Holmes.  How do you go about your day without giving it a feel now and then?  If I had a bottom this regal, my hands would be all over it.  I’d never get a thing done because I’d be too busy admiring my own attributes…”

And that was the honest truth… his Mycroft was godlike, he really was, and this explorer was absolutely committed to his worship.

      “… but, I’ll settle for admiring yours, instead.  It’s good you can afford fine clothes, love, because nothing but the finest should ever cover this spectacular body.”

Mycroft continued to hum in pleasure, at both his Gregory’s words and the wandering of his hand.  Did all couples share this level of bliss?  Did they offer such words of praise and gestures of erotic potency?  Oh, what did it matter?  He and Gregory had their share… _nothing_ else mattered.

      “You are generous with your approval, my dear.”

      “Generous with my honesty.  I’ll tell you every day how dazzling you are.  How you fill my eyes with wonder.  And, if I get the chance to fill my hands, too, well, I won’t let it pass me by.”

And, add in nice, firm, double-squeeze to make his Mycroft gasp in surprise and giggle with delight at the impudence.

      “I will remind you if an opportunity slips your notice.”

      “That’s my Mycroft… always looking out for me.”

And very much enjoying his bum attention, something which surprised Lestrade a little, given the rather high degree of intimacy, but that happy hum and contented smile told every part of the tale worth telling.  And, in full honesty, he wasn’t trying to be provocative or sexual… just savoring the feel of his Mycroft and giving his love the pleasure of a bit of shared contact.  The sexy stuff could wait for another time.

      “It is my honor to do so.  It is also my honor to inform you, my dear, that you possess supremely-talented hands.  Verily, I have not experienced such a thing before, but I find it both pleasant and relaxing.”

      “Perfect.  Something pleasant and relaxing to end your long day of work and help you sleep.  I’ll do it every night, if you like.  Bit of attention to chase those troubles away… belly rub, bum rub, give your shoulders some work to loosen the muscles… I’m the man for it.  Now, do you think you can see a little rest tonight?”

Hmmm… say no and Gregory will continue to lavish attention.  Say yes and Gregory will stop.  However, Gregory _also_ needs his rest and one must set aside one’s own wants, at times, to benefit the one you love.

      “I believe sleep shall come on swift wings after this delightful interlude.”

      “That’s what I hoped to hear.  Tomorrow night, we can repeat the whole business for as long as you like, alright?”

      “You have my wholehearted agreement.  And…”

      “Yes?”

Mycroft’s continued pause prompted Lestrade to remain silent and lazily run his hand in repeated circles over his beloved’s bum so Mycroft could think without interruption or distraction.

      “Whereas this is incalculably lovely, my beloved, is there something one might do so, say… scandalize the time a tad more?”

I wouldn’t even have to see your cheeks to know, dear Mycroft, that they’re pinking prettily at the question.  The tone in your voice is _most_ revealing and I positively adore it.

      “Oh yes.  Sometimes you want relaxation for its own sake and, other times, it’s a prelude to something less relaxing.  Want a small demonstration?”

      “I… for elucidatory purposes only, of course.”

      “Oh, of course.  For instance, I could let my fingers trail lightly up and down right in the middle here so… ooh, someone likes that.”

Like?  He was beset by trembling!  And he had moaned… moaned!  Made the most primitive of noises and, oh dear heavens, this is too rapturous…

      “Someone likes that very much… I do, as well, so we’re in good company.  Want just a bit more?”

      “Y… yes.”

      “Alright, how does this feel?”

Lestrade let his hand trail farther down so that his fingers brushed Mycroft’s inner things as well as his arse and he grinned widely at the needy moan his… why not?... his lover let ring out in the bedroom.  If the nightshirt wasn’t there, his Mycroft would truly be singing and, very soon, he suspected, he’d get to hear that particular song.

      “Gregory…”

      “Yes, love?”

      “Is it… could you… oh it is a tawdry thing I ask…”

Let the concert begin.

      “Then I like it already… do tell.”

      Could you… Gregory, could you r… raise my nightshirt, so…”

      “So I can touch your remarkable bare skin?  I’d like nothing better.  Am I allowed to see what’s making my hands happy or shall I leave that as a surprise for later?”

Another extended pause began, but the explorer was firmly convinced it was only to let his Mycroft’s brain return from the erotic place it had just leaped into to play awhile.

      “You may… you may see.”

Lestrade ran his hand along Mycroft’s back to calm what he could of Mycroft’s lingering nerves and quiet his own excitement.  This was fantastic!  Now, just had to be certain to go slowly and carefully, so his love didn’t frighten himself away from their unexpected evening.  Therefore, reposition on the bed to slowly and carefully lift the hem of his Mycroft’s nightshirt, try not to whimper at the sight of those legs and thighs, fail miserably, try not to get ragingly hard at the sight of that noble, mighty arse, fail miserably, realize that your hands are already roaming over it and the noises you’re making are a very good match for your Mycroft’s…

      “Oh, Gregory… that is…. that is divine… I am… it is becoming…”

The slight squirming told Lestrade exactly _what_ was becoming and how hard it was becoming, at that, something which pleased him to no end.

      “I know, love, it’s the same for me.  Isn’t it wonderful?  Enjoying that feeling and knowing it’s normal, natural and just a brilliant thing when you share it with someone?”

So you just lie there and let that sensitive stiffness add to the sensation of me treating your body the way it deserves to be treated.  Those thick, full thighs, sturdy calves, and there were no words, no words at all, to do justice to the big, beautiful bottom that veritably begged for his touch.  Full and fleshy and just perfect for these two large hands of his.  Took two just to properly knead and massage one half and he still had to move them about quite a bit so all parts got their fair share of attention.  What could be more wonderful than that!  Having _two_ halves, is what and they were his… all his, and this was what those academics should put in one of those dictionaries to describe _heavenly_.

      “You’re utterly incredible, Mycroft.  What I’ve been waiting for my entire life and I have no idea how I’ve survived so long without you.  May I… would it be alright with you if… I gave you a little kiss?”

      “I… if you desire.  Here, let me turn and…”

      “No, love, not your lips, though I’ll have those later if they’re still on offer.  I mean this…”

Lestrade ran his outstretched hand along Mycroft’s rump and did a mental jig that this brought another gasp of surprise and a continued hitching of breath while his dearest grappled with the concept.

      “Y… you wish to kiss my b…bottom?”

      “Very much, if you’ll allow it.”

      “I… oh dear… oh my heavenly stars…”

      “If that’s not alright with you…”

      “IT IS!  I mean… it is.   D… do begin.”

Nothing on Earth was as adorable as a sexually-flustered Mycroft Holmes and that was a fact that would stand the test of time.

      “I shall…”

And without wasting one moment, the explorer leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to one of Mycroft’s quivering cheeks and smiled against the skin at the small ‘eep’ that accompanied the peck.  Needless to say, that called for another and this one lasted a little longer so the eep became more of an aroused whine, which made a few more kisses a necessary thing, so his Mycroft was serenading him with a bounty of small noises.  Since there wasn’t a ‘stop’ signal in evidence, perhaps a series of additional kisses was warranted, combined with a measure of gentle hands on flesh, coupled with, when _that_ had encouraging effects, small licks of his Mycroft’s warm, spicy skin that sent sharp tremors through the beautiful man’s body.

      “I love you, Mycroft.  I love everything about you.  Do you have any idea how affect me?  I’ve never desired anyone as much, never _wanted_ anyone as much as you.  It staggers me how gorgeous you are… and how succulent you taste…”

It wasn’t a conscious choice to move to a better position to pay proper tribute to his Mycroft’s bottom and thighs, but it was the _right_ choice as his love shifted in tandem to ensure he had access and encouragement for his lovemaking.  Lovemaking is what it was, too.  Giving love to every bit of his Mycroft’s flesh with hands, lips and tongue.  No exploring beyond what was easy to see and reach, but that was enough.  More than enough, actually, because his Mycroft had thrown inhibition to the winds and was making his need known with every moan, sigh and gasp he vocalized, directing the bedroom performance to maximize his pleasure.  But, of course, there was one thing unaddressed and it was, obviously, becoming harder for his love to ignore, if his continued repositionings were to be believed.  That Mycroft wasn’t already rutting against the mattress simply beggared belief…

      “It’s alright, Mycroft.  Making yourself happy, I mean.  You saw me do it last night and no bolts of lightning arrived to strike me down.  I… I can leave if you want me to and…”

      “No… do not leave.”

      “Alright… tell me what you want and I’ll do it.  Tell me what you need and I’ll give it.”

      “I…  Gregory…”

      “Yes, love?”

      “I…”

      “Talk to me, Mycroft.  Tell me how to help you.”

      “I… I do not know what to do.”

      “How to do what?”

      “What… what you did.  What happened beneath your nightshirt.”

Oh…. oh bloody hell… his poor Mycroft.  His poor, poor Mycroft.  That wasn’t right.  This world had a lot to answer for…

      “I can absolutely help you with that.  There’s a few ways, actually.  I can guide you… lay behind you and move your hand so you get the idea or… I can show you.   _Really_ show you, I mean.  And you can decide how much of you you’re comfortable showing me while you follow my lead.  Whatever you want, Mycroft.  It’s your decision and I’ll do whatever you want me to do or not do to make you happy.”

Lestrade hoped his bedmate starting to turn was a good sign and not the prelude to one of Mycroft’s well-remembered evictions, and moved off his lover’s legs to give Mycroft as much freedom of motion as possible.  Not a single thing would he do or say to influence the man he loved at this very pivotal moment.  When Mycroft had rolled fully onto his back, his erection clearly visible and, in Lestrade’s opinion, absolutely breathtaking, the explorer couldn’t stop a smile erupting because this seemed to be going in one direction and it was a direction that had his heartiest approval.

      “I… I would ask for a… visual lesson.”

You amazing, wildly nervous, fabulous man…

      “Then that’s what you’ll have.”

Taking it slow to draw out the suspense, Lestrade moved back towards his love, thinking a moment before pushing Mycroft’s nightclothes up a bit so he could straddle one of his Holmes’s robust thighs, then stared into Mycroft’s eyes as he gradually drew the nightshirt over his head so he was fully nude, grandly hard and certainly not posing himself as seductively as he could for his beloved’s viewing pleasure.

      “I would have left the nightshirt on, but it would have been difficult to hold it out of the way so you could see what you needed to see.  Is this alright?”

There wasn’t a speck of blue left in Mycroft’s eyes and Lestrade stretched sinuously to spur his lover to reach out to run a hand along the explorer’s own thigh and shudder strongly at the contact.

      “It is… it is a dream.  A fantasy.  It is the entirety of my imagination and desire made real.”

      “All for you, Mycroft.  Everything I am… it’s all for you.  I’ll begin now and… you can copy what I do to get started.  Then, let your body tell you what it likes, what makes it feel hot and raises the need… listen to your body… it won’t tell you lies.”

Keeping his eyes on his Mycroft’s face for any sign of a change of mind, Lestrade began stroking his hard cock, smiling at the added pleasure from the strong vibrations of Mycroft’s trembling thigh nestled beneath him.  This was going to be murder!  Already he wanted to let go and shower his lover with evidence of how passionately he loved the man now captivated by his performance.  But that was the one thing he couldn’t do.  His Mycroft needed a proper lesson and the chance to truly see how joyful and natural sex, even with one’s self, could actually be.

      “J… just start with a little rubbing.  Stroke as s… softly or firmly as feels right.”

Hoping Mycroft started his own performance soon because stamina was not going to be his long suit tonight, the explorer bit his bottom lip and bit harder when Mycroft reached under his nightshirt and began to follow instructions.

      “Oh dear… this… this is…”

      “Feels amazing, doesn’t it, love?”

      “I… yes.  Stars above, it is… oooohhhhh…”

      “Beautiful… you’re a vision of beauty pleasuring yourself, Mycroft.  Here, watch and I’ll use my thumb to give the tip a bit of a rub.  Move that lovely fluid all about so things feel especially nice.  How does that….”

Mycroft’s groan made that question especially irrelevant, so Lestrade decided to leave it unfinished.

      “Change the speed around, too… find what’s best for you.  And… you’ve got two hands, you know.  See me giving my bollocks a bit of play?  You might like that, too.”

Right now, his Mycroft would like _everything_ , but they had years ahead of them to refine matters and learn those special patterns that sent his love straight out of his mind.

      “Gregory… this is…”

      “Yes?”

Mycroft’s frustrated roar shocked Lestrade, but not nearly as much as Mycroft grabbing his nightshirt and wrestling it of his body so he was as naked as his partner.

      “Accursed cloth!  It is villainous!”

Not that Lestrade had any response to make because he was transfixed at the sight of his prim and proper Mycroft Holmes, naked, glistening with sweat, and ferociously stroking his cock as his face flushed hotly with pleasure.

      “It is… it covered _that_.  You’re… you’re glorious, love.  Spectacular, stunning, magnificent…”

      “Please… Gregory, I want to see…”

      “See what, love?  Tell me and I’ll do it.  There’s nothing you can ask that’s wrong or bad or indecent... nothing at all.”

Watching his Holmes struggle to get out the words, Lestrade may, only may, have put a little extra… theatrics… into his performance, reaching around to fondle his own arse and making certain to slick his cock well, and lustrously, with the fluid he’d been leaking in abundance.

      “Let me…  Gregory, let me witness your release…”

It wasn’t possible to love this man more.  Not possible.  Never, no matter how long he lived.

      “I’ll let you see, love… let you see everything… let you see how good you make me feel… how much I love you…”

Lestrade stroked his cock faster, running his hand along the volcanically-hot skin of Mycroft’s thigh and belly until his breath became shallow and he gave in to the mind-shattering orgasm he’d been holding back only through his strongest force of will, unashamedly letting his semen splash onto Mycroft’s body, as well as coat his own fingers.

      “That… that… dear god, Gregory…

Lestrade blinked the pleasurable haze out of his eyes and locked those eyes with his lover’s, whose were alight with arousal and astonishment, a combination his Mycroft wore exceedingly well.

      “That was… phenomenal, love.  You make my body do things… feel things… I can’t describe it.  Now, though… your turn.  Show that gorgeous cock of yours the time of its life…”

Mycroft had stopped his own actions to watch his explorer experience his rapture, but now… now rapture was _his_ to know and he again began working his cock with the pressure and speed he’d learned he enjoyed and breathed out a shuddery ‘yes’ when Lestrade’s hand ran along his inner thigh and ghosted lightly across his tight, heavy balls.

      “Gregory… something… is it… I feel…”

      “Let it happen, Mycroft.  Just let it happen.  I promise it’ll be wonderful.”

There was the tiniest flash of panic in his lover’s eyes, but it was wrestled down by the cresting sensations that Mycroft had never known, but, at that moment, needed with a desperation that overpowered everything else.

      “I… it is happening…”

      “And it’s beautiful, love.  Just let go…”

And letting go is what Mycroft did, falling and soaring at the same time as his body flooded with a wild and uncontrollable pleasure that had him groaning loudly and sending his seed over his body in a sight that had Lestrade groaning with his own pleasure at the sheer majesty of the vision.

      “I… I... Gregory?”

The slightly confused tone in Mycroft’s voice sent Lestrade forward to lay on his very messy lover and gently kiss his lips, while whispering calming, loving words as Mycroft worked his way through his daze.

      “Oh… oh my heavens… that… that was… I have no mechanism to describe it.”

      “And you don’t need one.  That sort of thing is just to be felt, experienced.”

      ‘I… I understand, now, your… _fondness_ … for such an act.”

      “It’s brilliant, isn’t it?  Doesn’t cost a farthing, either.  Show yourself a nice evening or have someone share it with you… really, there’s nothing not to recommend it.”

It was only now that Mycroft’s mind was becoming sufficiently aware of its surroundings to process that he was naked, his Gregory was naked, they had shared the most intimate of moments and his Gregory was lying nakedly upon his own nakedness in somewhat of a wealth of naked…ity… and he was not dying.  Or receiving the censure of the universe.  Or scuttling back into his own mind to hide until all the nakedity went away and left him alone with his starched collars and leagues of fine woolen garments.  Apparently a very lot could happen in a short period of time, and he was indescribably thankful for it.

      “I believe you intimated, my dear that… _assistance_ might be had with such a thing?”

Lestrade’s grin lit the room brightly and he gave his Mycroft a slow, tender kiss as a reward for being a randy gent with appetites a lesser man could not even imagine.

      “Most certainly.  All sorts of delightful assistance with hands, tongues, thighs… oh, just about anything, really.  Let me guess, you want a demonstration of all of that, too.”

Mycroft felt the smile break through his lips and he wrapped his arms around Lestrade, making certain to slowly feel his way up from Lestrade’s legs, across his arse and up to his back before firming the embrace.

      ‘I am a rather poor student, so I suspect multiple lessons for each technique will be required before I gain understanding.  And, of course, I also lack any appreciable retention of information, so repeated instruction will be necessary.”

      “Well, that’s a lot of work, but for a worthy gentleman like yourself, I suppose I can make the effort.  In fact, I can put some effort, now, into wetting a cloth and seeing about getting us clean.  I wager you’ve about reached your limit for, shall we say, the consequences of having such a splendid time.”

      “Ah, yes… I had not fully anticipated how…”

      “Sticky?”

      “That is one descriptor… I would appreciate some measure of cleansing, thank you.”

      “Then that’s our next step.  Of course, getting all of that loveliness out of this magnificent forest of hair will be quite the job, but Gregory Lestrade has never shied away from hard jobs.  Especially if they give me more time to have hands on this… have I told you I adore your body?  Have I made that sufficiently clear?”

Mycroft wriggled slightly beneath his lover and reveled simply in the feel of being both loved _and_ desired.  What an incredibly heady thing it was!  He had found it late in life, but find it he did and , from this moment forward, tightly it would be grasped and held close to his heart for the remainder of his days.

      “It does not sound familiar to my ears, so I must respond in the negative.”

Lestrade gave the side of Mycroft’s bottom a hearty smack, which started both men giggling and finally set the explorer in motion to make his lover more comfortable.  Not exactly the way he had expected the night to go, but he’d gladly see no sleep for a week to get to enjoy this with his Mycroft.  Who, from the gleam in his eye and the fact that he hadn’t taken one step back to his prims and propers, including folding his hands behind his head and remaining unabashedly exposed for view, said all steps were going to be forward and taken fast.  Oh… this was going to be fun…

__________

      “John…”

      “No, Sherlock… just no.”

      “Are you certain we should not… check?”

      “I am certain we should not check.”

      “Mycroft sounded… in pain.”

      “That wasn’t pain.”

      “He has never groaned that forcefully in his life.”

      “I… I’m a bit surprised, but also not.  Still certain about the not checking, though.  And the… not pain.”

      “That Lestrade allowed such to happen…”

      “Deserves our congratulations, but we shall not, not in a million years, mention this to either of them.  Ever.  Not ever.  Never.”

      “What is wrong with you?”

I am standing in the corridor hearing your brother have probably the best orgasm of his life, what do you think is wrong with me you idiot!

      “Nothing, just letting those lovely nibbles we stole from the kitchen settle in my stomach and noticing how remarkably clean Mrs. Hudson keeps your house.  Really, very well done.  Very nice.  Very nice, indeed.”

      “We will speak further of this, John.”

No, Sherlock… no we won’t.

      “Didn’t you say you had some new tests you wanted to start?  I’m… I’m feeling a bit energized now…”

And if I go to sleep the nightmares will murder me in my bed.

      “… so we can get started on one or two if you’d like.”

      “I… oh.  That _would_ be a far better use of your time than pointless sleeping.

Don’t forget the murderous naked nightmares.

      “Then let’s be at it.  But, I _do_ get a night’s sleep tomorrow, agreed?”

      “We may negotiate that later.”

      “Good enough.”

Because, knowing Greg, the murderous naked nightmare fuel was very likely to reappear tomorrow. And the following night.  Oh god, he was never going to sleep again…


	29. Chapter 29

      “Why are you smiling?”

Why, brother dear?  Because I am inhabiting a personal heaven bestowed by the man sitting at his rightful place at the end of the table across from me.  And, there may be some, rather exhilarating remnants from this morning’s… encore… of last night’s orchestra of pleasure.  His Gregory was so gracious as to provide a small reinforcing lesson and an objective scoring of his own performance of the instructed techniques.  Which, naturally, was exemplary.  If they had not scandalously slept past their intended time of rising, the small lesson likely would be occurring still.

      “The morning is lovely, there have been no messengers frantically beating upon the door and I am graced at table by those nearest and dearest to me.  Pray tell, why would I not smile, given this bounty of delights?”

      “John!  Mycroft has lost his senses.  He requires a potion of some form to restore his naturally-dyspeptic humors!”

      “Busy with breakfast, Sherlock.  Potion making can wait.”

      “Intolerable!  Lestrade… this is undoubtedly your fault, so provide correction immediately.”

      “Also busy with breakfast, Sherlock.  You should be, too, if what I heard was right and you’re actually going to be helping us today move matters along for the expedition.”

      “Someone must.  Without an intelligent and efficient leader, you have no hope of being prepared when the day arrives for your departure.”

      “Oh, who do you have in mind?  Your brother would be a fine candidate, however, I think he’s a tad too busy with keeping the Empire together to plan a schedule for loading barrels or calculating how much cloth John needs for bandages.  That’s important, too, and we certainly didn’t do a brilliant job of that for the last expedition.  Of course, we _also_ didn’t predict that we’d get in the middle of a rather heated exchange between two neighboring villages, each of which was convinced we were allied with the other.  That required a good day’s patching up afterwards and John had to use one of my last two shirts to make a bandage for the pretty scratch I received as my share of the carnage.  And, by scratch, I mean wildly bleeding gash that nearly sawed through my ribs.”

      “Oh, is that the source of the rather roguish scar you sport across your flank, my dear?”

      “The very one!  Bloke took a thrust at me with a spear and I dodged enough for survival, just not enough to keep my manly skin unscathed.”

      “WAIT!”

Sherlock’s roar froze the table in place, with the only sound being the soft ‘puft’ of a bit of ham falling off of John’s fork onto his plate.

      “Yes, brother?  Have you your own story of bravery and valor to share?”

      “How do you know Lestrade has a scar on his torso?”

Mycroft shared a smile with Lestrade, which only served to irritate Sherlock further.

      “Confess!”

      “Very well.  I communed with a spiritualist and received the information from the ghostly beyond.”

      “John!  Where is your potion!”

      “I’m beginning to think you’re the one in need of potioning, you bastard.  Nearly startled the appetite right out of me.”

      “Lestrade!  John is useless!”

      “Sherlock, I really do think you’d feel much happier of you drank more.  Just a few bottles a day will take that nervous energy right out of you.”

      “You, Lestrade, are also useless.”

      “Love, you want to be useless, too, so we can share that as well as… other things.”

      “Lestrade is now smiling!  This is… I demand to know what is happening.  I am not content to be ignorant of what is the root of this… smiling and nauseating jocularity.  And… the scar.  There is a connection, I am convinced of this.”

Knowing well the outcome of Sherlock’s folded arms and determined scowl, Mycroft dabbed his mouth and cleared this throat to make the formal pronouncement.

      “Not that it is any of your business, Sherlock, and know well this is the very last I shall speak of the matter in a, shall we say, public forum, but Gregory and I have added a component to our union that… let us say that clothing is an impediment to its manifestation.”

      “That is the most meaningless statement you have ever uttered.”

      “Its meaning may escape you now, Sherlock, however, I suspect it will not evade your comprehension forever.  Let it simply be said for the purposes of this particular conversation that I am aware of Gregory’s scar because I have witnessed it first-hand and that witnessing is also cause for our rather… lighthearted mood this morning.  Now, do finish your breakfast as it appears you have a rather active day ahead of you.”

      “John…”

      “Not now, Sherlock.  If… if you truly can’t fathom this out on your own, we can talk about it later, just… this is breakfast, for god’s sake.  Some things are simply not done at breakfast.”

Sherlock’s pout could have held back Napoleon’s army, but he began poking at the food on his plate, signifying to everyone else’s relief that the discussion was tabled.  Of course, who, exactly, Sherlock would target for his next round of interrogation was rather uncertain and each man hoped he would be sufficiently busy that, in the event he was the unlucky one chosen, the cup could be passed to another who was sufficiently foolish to have taken a moment to draw a free breath of air.  Perhaps Mrs. Hudson fancied the honor.  She was a practical woman and surely would not shirk from the task.  Happily, Sherlock’s discomfort during the lesson would be a fitting reward for his demanding nature.

      “Thank you, Doctor Watson.  Might I assume, given the conscription of Sherlock into your ranks, that you are hopeful for a more reasonable return home this evening?”

      “I hope so.  With Sherlock and my research, I didn’t see a bit of sleep last night.”

But, handily avoided the murderous naked nightmares, so well done me.

      “My dear, your opinion?”

      “I think, that with Sherlock’s valuable assistance, we may actually see the chance for dinner around this very table.”

Mycroft’s heart warmed at the sight of his brother’s pout changing to a satisfied smile and marveled that he had found a man who so readily embraced Sherlock’s singular nature and successfully managed that nature so that chaos did not reign, though Sherlock continued to feel supported.  And, it left his own hands and mind relieved of some measure of that particular duty, which was an ancillary, but much welcome, blessing.  Soon, though, that blessing would be taken away and the mourning period would be a most protracted one.  _Already_ he was feeling the loss of his Gregory in this house and the man had been here the fewest of days!

      “Excellent.  I know from a highly-reliable source that Cook is ecstatic to be able to utilize her talents for more than Sherlock and myself.  I shall relay to her your information and I have no doubt she shall reward your and Doctor Watson’s presence with something highly palatable.”

      “Sounds perfect.  Good, filling meal and then something… active… to make use of all that nourishment.”

John groaned silently at the wicked smile on Lestrade’s face and the excited one Mycroft returned, prompting him to shovel the rest of his breakfast into his mouth, quickly finish his tea and rise from the table.

      “Sherlock. we’d best be off if we want to see this house again before tomorrow morning.  Greg?  You coming with us or are you going to linger awhile?”

And, by linger, I mean do things with your suitor that I do not want to have to explain to Sherlock.

      “I’ll be along presently.  I’ve got a meeting with a few RGS patrons, but then I’m back in the thick of it.”

      “Alright then.  Off we go, Sherlock.  Mycroft… please remember that Greg _does_ have responsibilities today so he can’t dawdle here and not see the RGS until dusk.”

Which, with the various exchanged looks he’d suffered through this morning, dawdling was a distinct and shudder-inducing possibility.

      “I promise, Doctor Watson, that dawdling shall not occur.  I, also, have a full agenda ahead of me and it is not one that would benefit from lingering long in Gregory’s company, though that would be my preferred way to spend this day.”

With more romantic gazes on offer, John grabbed Sherlock by the arm and dragged him out of his chair, continuing the drag until they were out of eyesight of things tender eyes should not bear watching.

      “And I do wish, my dear, we could spend this day in a more relaxing manner than we currently are slated to know, however…”

      “I know, Mycroft, and I share your wish.  But, I _do_ think John’s right and we won’t be as late tonight returning home.”

      “Excellent.  Then, let us finish our breakfast, without Sherlock’s interrogation, and see you on to your meeting.  When you return from your travels, I feel that restoring my carriage to service might be a prudent act.  Your rather abundant comings and goings warrant a reliable and ready source of transport.”

      “You have a carriage?”

      “I do and I will ensure it is prepared for your use on your return.”

      “Meaning it’s not ready now.”

      “I… if you desire it, I can see that very thing done today.  Most likely.  I believe horses shall have to be purchased, however…”

      “No!  No, Mycroft, that’s far too much for these few days.  I was more… well, if it was available, I’d love to escort you on a tour of the city at night.  The safer bits, at least.”

Was there a man as romantic and doting as his Gregory?  No, there surely was not.

      “We might, I suppose, hire a carriage, if the opportunity arises.  The suggestion of an evening’s turn around the city is one I find highly inviting.”

      “Yes!  Such a clever man you are, Mycroft Holmes.  If not before I leave, then certainly when I return.  Carriage rides, nights at the theater, lovely dinners in restaurants you enjoy… can’t forget, either, afternoon strolls through London’s fine museums… all of that, every bit of that I want to share with you.  I’d be doing that very thing now if…”

      “I know, Gregory, but it is the responsibility of great men to rise to challenges given them by life.”

      “When you say it like that, it makes this all sound noble.”

      “Does that help?”

      “Actually, yes.”

      “Then I claim a kiss as my payment for services rendered.”

Lestrade grinned and ran to the other end of the table, checking on the way that no servants were hovering in wait to clear the plates, and gave his Mycroft a warm, tender kiss.

      “Sufficient?”

      “Hmmmm… for now.  However, given the enormity of my boon to you, I expect more will be added to your payment, though, at a later time and more private location.”

Licking his lips with anticipation, Lestrade locked eyes with Mycroft and made certain his Holmes knew just how much more would be added to that payment so he could spend the day daydreaming about what form that additional payment would take.

      “I’ll pay the bill gladly.  But, for now, I’d best be off, too.  Long day, yourself?”

      “As always, however, I have found that a measure of time in the conservatory after lunch is making the burden of the day far easier on my constitution.”

Mycroft had found that as much as he adored his explorer’s kisses, he adored simple contact, such as a caress on his cheek, exactly as much, and savored the sensation of Lestrade’s fingers on his skin for as long as the contact remained, and then a few seconds beyond as the lingering heat faded away.

      “And that will always be available to you, even when I’m gone.  In fact, why don’t you put the sketch you made of me in there, so I can join you, in some form or fashion, for your relaxing moment.”

      “An excellent idea.  I shall do that very thing today.”

      “Oh, but I added a bit to your burden, since you’ll have to carry that heavy paper all the way to the conservatory.  Does that mean I have to make an increase in my later-and-more-private payment to you when I return?”

      “Hmmm… yes, that would seem necessary to satisfy equity.”

      “Alright, then.  I’m a very staunch supporter of fairness, so I’ll start planning.”

When Mycroft smiled his shy, excited smile, the room, in Lestrade’s eyes, lit up like the sun.

      “Until later, then.”

      “Until later.”

One last kiss on his Mycroft’s forehead preceded Lestrade darting off to collect his hat and coat and making a start on what was certain to be an arduous day.  But he was coming home to Mycroft and that was the most important thing to keep in mind.  Coming home every day to the man you love… there was no better feeling in the world.  Well… maybe there were a few rivals for that title, but he’d have to wait until he was offering up his extra payment tonight to know for certain…

__________

Since his mother wasn’t alive and, even when she was, had no power to know the inner workings of his mind, Lestrade felt free to let a string of profanities and vulgarities race through his brain as he dragged himself up the front steps to Mycroft’s door.  He’d made it back at a very reasonable hour, but only through pushing himself and anyone else on hand to near the breaking point and, now, it was a question whether the monstrous effort had been worth it.  How could he show his Mycroft a lovely time if he was about to drop dead on his feet!

Of course, dropping might mean bending over and his back was not at all happy about that thought.  Stupid man... you know how to lift!  Don’t just reach over and yank up something that’s half your body weight and expect your not-twenty-years-old-anymore back to take that without protest!  You are a foolish, ridiculous, man and having your attention dragged in fifty different directions while packing up supplies was not an excuse for letting your foolishness and ridiculousness stand tall and proud.  Not that standing tall and proud was very easy either at this point in time… at least John hadn’t laughed too loudly at him, while verifying that he wasn’t actually crippled for life.  Sherlock did, but that, really was easily to be expected.

      “Wondered when you were going to come inside… dithering about on the stoop like a newsboy who’d forgotten one of Mr. Holmes’s papers.”

Being welcomed with effusive goodwill at the end of a hard day was a rewarding thing, indeed.

      “Sorry, Mrs. Hudson.  Didn’t mean for my dithering to keep you from your work.  I’ll remember to be less dithery tomorrow.”

The housekeeper clucked her tongue, but ran an eye over the explorer who was smiling like a rogue, as usual, but there was something besides fatigue pulling on that smile in a slightly worrying way that gave Mrs. Hudson her own cause for concern.

      “See that you do.  Here, let me help you out of that coat and you can go make Mr. Holmes a very happy man.  He’s had his hands full today, I’m sorry to say, because that means he gets into the sweets and then gets peevish when he’s emptied the box or bag.  He’s been _very_ peevish today and I know he had a full box of chocolates on hand, so… well, he’ll be so happy to see you.”

Alright, his Mycroft had a difficult day and that was not something he could let stand without addressing.  None of this bad back business while his love needed something to make him smile.

      “I’ll take care of it, Mrs. Hudson, don’t worry about a thing.”

Of course, the housekeeper’s worry shot up alarmingly watching Lestrade’s face as he worked to get his coat off his body.

      “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with you, Mr. Lestrade, before I have to do a bit of spying to find out myself?”

      “Me?  Nothing.  Nothing at all.”

      “Try saying that without gritting your teeth.”

      “I’d rather not, if you don’t mind.”

      “Back?”

      “Yeah, did something foolish and it’s taking pleasure reminding me.  Just a touch of a strain, though.  Little muscle ache that will pass with a good night’s sleep.”

      “I’ll send to the chemist for something to help.  Don’t want you having to take to bed for a week, what with only have two to get yourself ready for your ship!”

      “I don’t think…”

      “That’s why I’m doing it for you.  It’s that or I tell Mr. Holmes and he’ll make a panicked summons of his physician that you know you don’t want.”

      “That’s true.  Alright, you do what you feel is best and I’ll take charge of making Mycroft forget about his difficult day.  Fair exchange?”

      “Very fair.  Dinner is a little over an hour away, so you certainly have time to brighten his mood so he enjoys his meal.  Mr. Sherlock and Doctor Watson… are they joining us?”

      “Possibly, though Sherlock seemed rather interested in the proceedings and that might keep them busy until rather late.  I think he’s hoping to steer a number of things in his direction so he sneaks a few experiments into our cargo.  And have some space set aside for samples and specimens he wants returned.”

      “If he gets to be too much of a bother, let me know and I’ll set him straight about letting a body get on with their work.”

      “I will, but… I also think he just wants the chance to spend as much time with John as he can.”

Reaching out to squeeze the explorer’s arm, Mrs. Hudson knew that for men like her dear Holmes brothers, finding love was almost impossible, let alone finding love with someone brave enough to risk acting on it.  Poor little Sherlock… luckily, the expedition wouldn’t last forever and he’d be reunited with Doctor Watson once again.  And Mycroft would have this wonderful man returned to him, too.  They just had to show patience.  Which neither of them was particularly good about showing with personal matters so… yes, it was going to be a turbulent year or so lying ahead of them all…

      “Yes… I expect you’re right.  Go on, now, but be mindful of that back of yours.  If it’s already causing you pain, it won’t take much to make matters a great deal worse.”

With a smile that both comforted and warned, Mrs. Hudson pointed towards the study and Lestrade obediently shambled off and peeked into the room, seeing what he expected to see… a somber-faced Mycroft scrutinizing a sheaf of papers, none of which seemed to be giving him any cause for joy.

      “Bad time, love?”

      “What?  Gregory!  Never, my dear… it is the reality of my life that I am forever besieged by documentation of the idiocy of the worlds of politics and commerce.  A respite from the burden is always welcome, especially if that respite may be spent with you.”

Mycroft raised his hand and smiled as Lestrade walked forward and took it between his own.

      “I know it’s a _terrible_ burden, but I’m glad it’s you shouldering it rather than some buffoon that would let all of England slip into despair.”

It was still a new and startling thing for Mycroft to receive compliments and words of support and the small smile that broke out hearing the explorer’s praise was all the reward Lestrade would ever desire.

      “You are too kind, Gregory.  Sit!  Sit and let me hear the adventures of your day.”

Sitting?  Uh… no.  Best not.

      “I’ll stand for a moment if you don’t mind.  Lots of sitting, squatting and bending today, so the body could use a bit of simple standing to… stretch the bits and pieces back to normal.”

      “Then we shall move to the library where you might recline in comfort, while performing the necessary stretching.”

Reclining?  Uh… no.  Best not.  Especially if he needed to rise again in the foreseeable future.

      “I’m fine, love.  When we’re in Africa, we’re on our feet all day and it’s probably wise to get back to that habit now.  Start standing and walking about more so I remind myself what is waiting for me in a scant few days.”

      “I would counter your argument with the position that you should take all possible time, now, to rest and relax, knowing the arduous journey that lies ahead.”

Don’t fuddle me with logic!  I’m trying to keep you from worrying!

      “You’re already tired of gazing at the full picture of this handsome and masculine form?  Oh, that’s not a good thing to hear.  Bodes ill for me… might as well pack my luggage and find a space at dockside to pitch a tent.”

      “You are a teasing scamp, Gregory Lestrade.  Come, let us enjoy a brandy before dinner and you may regale me with your stories.  There should be a notable number, given Sherlock was party to your efforts today.”

Brandy… was a _good_ idea.  And standing by the fire, decorating the mantle and hearth with his manliness, was a time-honored pose for a man enjoying his drink.  That was a suggestion that had his ardent approval.

      “Brandy sounds lovely.”

Mycroft made quite a show of hurling his papers onto his desk and rose grandly from his chair to offer his arm to escort Lestrade to the library.

      “So chivalrous, Mr. Holmes.”

      “Mummy would be distraught if I were otherwise.”

      “Ha!  Speaking of…”

      “No, I have yet to inform her of your impending departure.  In truth, I have little doubt she would race here upon the earliest train to either beg you to stay or attempt to take charge of the planning so you are suitably, to her standards, prepared for all eventualities on your expedition.  Of course, to meet her standards you would likely have to hire another ship to carry along the furnishings, tea service and servants required for such an ordeal, for Mummy is nothing if not thorough in her initiatives.”

      “Think she’d nail you in a crate to send along, too?”

      “Most certainly.  If I were extremely fortunate, she would attach some form of tube to a water barrel so that I might not mummify during the voyage.”

      “Then, perhaps, we can wait to send along the news about John and me leaving.”

      “I feel that is wise.  She _will_ be upset, Gregory, do not doubt that for a moment, but now is not the time for you to suffer her upset, which can achieve rather operatic heights of grandeur in its expression.”

      “I’ll make certain to leave something important behind so she knows that I absolutely plan on returning to you.  She’ll worry, you know.”

      “That I do.  But… the time shall be long, yet not infinite.  She will endure.  As shall I.”

      “Think… since you were able to have some time away from your work when we had our visit with your mum, is it possible you could have more when I return?  Maybe a little longer, even?  We don’t have to go anywhere at all, if you like, just stay here and… get to know each other again.”

      “That is an excellent idea, and, yes, I _can_ arrange time to be away from my desk.  We shall consider that our plan, I believe, to celebrate your finding your way home.”

      “There we have it, then.  And, lo!  The brandy beckons!”

Mycroft chuckled at the explorer’s enthusiasm and made certain to pour a bit extra in Lestrade’s glass as compensation for his eagerness.

      “For you, my dear.  Let us sit on the sofa, shall we, and discuss the day’s events?”

      “Uh… still hoping to stand awhile, if that’s alright.  What a cozy fire this is.  Perfect to stand next to and get a bit heat into the bones.”

And muscles.  That did feel quite helpful, truth be told.  Yes, standing here, valiantly holding a glass of find brandy was just the ticket.

      “Gregory?”

      “Mycroft?”

      “I am of a mind that you are concealing something from me.”

      “Lots, probably, though not intentionally.  Let me see… did I tell you I stole a loaf of bread from the baker when I was six?  Didn’t really understand the concept of buying things and there was all this lovely bread… hungry little fellow I was so I wrapped my teeny hands around this massive loaf and carted it home with me!  Oh, my mum and dad were not happy to find they’d brought a villainous thief into the world and I had to work for the baker the rest of the day to show me the error of my ways.  Of course, ‘working’ meant playing with bits of dough, making my own misshapen loafs for baking and getting to eat my creations with butter, but I can assure you I was soundly put on the straight and narrow path after that harrowing experience.”

How was he to probe into Gregory’s duplicity when he was being presented with such charming stories?  The man _was_ villainous… a villain to the very core.

      “I applaud your parents’ commitment to seeing you raised with a respect for the law and tenets of property ownership.  Now, will you, and without an additional tale of your misspent youth, tell me why you are refusing, in a suspiciously roundabout way, to have a seat?”

      “I’m not refusing.  I’m… taking a more stretchy approach to my relaxation.”

      “You do realize that is utterly nonsensical, do you not?”

      “Yeah…”

      “Then, shall you try to repair the verbal train collision or opt for the path of honesty.”

      “Are those my only choices?”

      “I see no other presenting itself.”

      “How about silence?  A lovely, quiet hour sipping our brandy and listening to the gentle crackling of the fire?”

      “Most poetic and most ineffective.”

      “I… can I simply say it’s nothing and leave matters at that?”

      “Let me ponder… no.”

      “Thought so.  Alright… now, don’t get off the sofa and don’t be worried and don’t do something foolish like summoning your physician…”

      “Gregory, you do realize that you have now convinced me that all three of those things are absolutely required.  Wait here and I will send a message to…”

      “NO!  No, love… it’s just a bit of a sore back.  Lifted something improperly and did myself a disservice.  But, a good night’s rest and all will be well.”

      “You have hurt yourself?  Oh my dear…”

Mycroft pushed himself off the sofa and let his momentum press him forward to take Lestrade into his arms as tenderly as if he was holding a newborn kitten.

      “… how great is your discomfort, Gregory?  Why are you… it must be torturous for you to remain standing!  Here, let us see you to bed where you may rest while I send a message…”

      “No sending a message to your physician, Mycroft.  Really, it’s not that terrible.  Bending is a bit tricky now, so I’d rather limit the number of times I sit and stand, but I’ll be fine by morning.  I’ve done this before and you’d think I’d know better than to do it again, but… if it helps, Mrs. Hudson is sending to the chemist for something to ease the ache.”

      “Ah, excellent.  But what else, Gregory?  Your comfort is paramount and I shall take every step imaginable to ensure it.”

Lestrade opened his mouth to reiterate how minor was his situation, but decided (a) it would be taken as further evidence he was hiding a life-threatening condition and (b) Mycroft would continue fretting until he was able to take some form of action to help with matters.  Carry on, Gregory… carry on…

      “Since the fire is positively blissful, how about a hot bath?  I’ve been admiring that enormous tub of yours and am I right that it’s got taps, too?”

      “That it does.  I was rather eager to improve the comfort of this house and saw certain issues tended to when they became feasible.”

      “Then, I suggest I take my brandy in the bath so my back loosens a tad and you can join me, if you like.”

      “In… in the bath?”

      “In the tub, if there’s room for two grown men to fit.”

The explorer knew he would never grow tired of Mycroft’s scandalized blush, just as he knew he would never tire of prompting it to rise.

      “I… I do not believe it is quite that sizeable.”

      “Then we’ll find a nice chair for you and I’ll soak in the hottest water we can manage until it’s time for dinner.  Sound agreeable?”

      “Most agreeable.  Here, I shall assist you climbing the stairs and return for our brandies.”

      “You’re too kind, love.”

      “You will, of course, wait until I return to begin undressing.”

      “I would never think of starting without you.”

      “Excellent.”

      “And I’ll help you get undressed, too.”

      “But… I am not bathing.”

      “Those two things are not as connected as you think they are.”

      “They aren’t?”

      “Oh no… my Mycroft, beautiful and naked in a comfortable chair, sipping his brandy… that’s a sight fit for a king.”

One, two, threeeeee… yes!  Full blush!  Another sight fit for a king… even a king with a bad back.

      “I…”

      “Yes, love?”

      “I… that sounds most delightful.”

Yes, yes it does… and this explorer would bear witness to it all for he was a lucky, lucky man…

__________

      “Mr. Holmes?”

Mycroft turned a languid ear towards the door of the bath and smiled a thoroughly-relaxed smile.

      “Yes, Mrs. Hudson?”

      “Got Mr. Lestrade’s medicine.  I’ll just leave it out here, shall I?”

      “Yes, that will do.  Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.  Are we approaching the dinner hour?”

      “Noooooo…. I told Cook you and Mr. Lestrade were delayed a bit and you’d need another hour or so before you’d want your meal.”

The woman was sent by the stars…

      “That suits our schedule nicely.”

      “I brought up the brandy decanter, too.  I’ll leave it here with the package from the chemist.  Nothing better for an aching back than a few large brandies and some… chemicals.”

Sent by the stars to make life grand for two men in love…

      “Splendid.  Thank you, again, Mrs. Hudson.”

Listening for the sound of footsteps, Mycroft rose and strode majestically, in Lestrade’s opinion to the door to retrieve the brandy and delivery.  The stride back was exactly as lovely, as his Mycroft was gorgeous from either perspective.  Especially when naked.

      “I trust you will not object to taking your medicine, my dear.”

      “Of course not.  Long as there’s brandy to help it down my throat, I’m very much in favor of something medicinal.  Though… this bath has been a true delight.”

The delight, in Mycroft’s opinion, was the sight of his lover nearly boneless from the soothing effects of the water and the fact that his own chair was acceptably close to the tub that he could view his Gregory’s unclothed form in as much detail as he chose.

      “Then we shall make that a feature of our evenings as often as possible.  I admit that I am generally not inclined to take the trouble to linger long in the bath, but that viewpoint is, I feel, poised to change.”

      “Do you mean _I_ can lounge in a comfortable chair and watch you indulge in something warm and cozy?”

      “I mean that very thing.”

      “Then you have my full support.  And I’ll have more brandy now, if I may.”

      “Of course, my dear.  Anything for you.”

A part of Mycroft’s mind wondered if he, perhaps, had accidentally imbibed some form of chemicals, given the freeness with which he was moving, in a most naked fashion, around the bath, but the rest of his mind simply reveled in the fact that he _was_ and that his lover’s eyes never left the sight of his body for a single moment.

      “Here you are.  And here, to your further joy, is your laudanum.  Twenty drops, I believe, to start and how nice of Mrs. Hudson to provide a small measure of sherry to make your relief all the more palatable.”

      “She does think ahead about the niceties of life.  Try not to chase her off while I’m away, alright?”

      “I shall do my utmost to retain her continued employment.  However, that information must be kept highly confidential for I am most certain she would demand a princely rise in wage were she to know her true value to this household and its masters.”

      “True.  Maybe an extra bottle of gin now and again, though.  Few pieces of chocolate.  Some reward is due for keeping us happy.”

      “You are remarkably indulgent, my dear, but I find that rather an attractive trait.”

Lestrade hummed happily as Mycroft again took his seat and ran his hand up Mycroft’s leg to show his approval of that assessment.

      “Then I promise to stay as indulgent as I can.  Especially to you.”

Lazily stroking Mycroft’s leg, Lestrade leaned back and let the laudanum seep into his tissues and the brandy chase it in as deeply as possible.  Soon, any bit of hurt would be handled with whatever John had in his medical supplies, a night’s rest on a hard cot and, if he was very lucky, a drop or two of whisky that was scarcely fit for a dog, but now… now he could savor this bit of pampering and provide a little of his own in return.  His Mycroft was truly a magnificent man… definitely have to celebrate that magnificence before this bath was done…

__________

      “Dear me, Gregory, you appear most content.”

      “Oh… I am.  I suppose I should take my leave of this wonderful water, though, before Mrs. Hudson comes pounding on the door to threaten us with cold mutton and stale bread at table.”

      “We have a small measure of time before that occurs, I believe, however, I _also_ believe you would prefer to sit at said table with something other than air cloaking your skin and we must budget time for dressing.”

      “No, air-woven clothing would be fine for me.  The maids, however, might not be terribly happy about the situation.”

      “On the contrary, I believe they would be most pleased by the sight, though decency dictates they express that pleasure in shrieking, withering tones.”

      “That might upset my digestion.”

      “Then let us make a start towards maintaining our peaceful home.”

Reluctantly rising from his chair, Mycroft reached to gather a towel for his explorer, then froze as Lestrade’s hand ran up his thigh, grazing his free and accessible unmentionables.

      “Gregory…”

      “Yes…”

      “Was that… intentional?”

      “Yes…”

      “Oh.”

      “Can’t help it… sometimes you want skin just because it’s personal and intimate.  Other times you want skin because _your_ skin feels a need that only more skin can satisfy.”

      “My dear… your back…”

      “Is very and properly relaxed and utterly free of pain.”

      “That is the laudanum and brandy speaking, I think.”

      “Doesn’t change anything, does it?  Here, help me out of the bath and you can ensure I don’t hurt myself further with any slips.”

That was something Mycroft would gladly do and was very satisfied with his weight at the moment, for it made it easier to leverage Lestrade out of the tub and provide a sturdy support while the explorer found his footing on the bathroom floor.

      “There… now, come here…”

Lestrade embraced his Holmes, pressing their bodies together and began kissing the lips he found the most enticing in the world, adoring the small, pleasured noises Mycroft made as he wrapped his own arms around the explorer’s body and tightened their embrace.

      “Oh, Gregory… you… your body in my arms…”

      “Have a seat, Mycroft, and you’ll get to feel even more of me.”

Carefully urging Mycroft a few steps backwards, Lestrade then continued the urging so Mycroft was seated again but, this time, hosting another body that wriggled itself so it was seated in Mycroft’s lap and its owner was grinning as if he’d found a diamond on a horse path.

      “Oh this is the thing.  So easy to do this…”

Leaning in, Lestrade began kissing his lover, using his hands to lift Mycroft’s to reach out and take possession of one highly appreciative bottom.

      “Gr… Gregory…”

      “Just enjoy yourself, love.  Let me kiss you awhile and you let your hands roam as they’d like.”

Which Mycroft eagerly did, marveling at the sheer decadence of their position and contact in the chair.  It was… hedonistic!  And he treasured it… 

Especially since…

      “Ohhhhh… yes love…”

He was rutting!  Drawing his Gregory’s body close and rutting against him!  Or rather, using Gregory’s body to rut against himself, but the details were irrelevant!  It might be a tad… rude… however…

      “I… Gregory?  I did not mean to be b…be presumptuous…”

      “I know, Mycroft.  It’s all fine.  Whatever feels good, as long as you and your lover are happy, it’s absolutely fine.  I _want_ my body to make yours feel wonderful, so I am very happy with what you’re doing.”

      “Oh… good…”

      “In fact, I’ll assist a bit, shall I?”

Lestrade slowed Mycroft’s rather frantic thrusts to something slower and more sensual, repositioning slightly so more of him could press against his lover and their stiffening cocks had greater contact with hot, welcoming skin.

      “How’s that?”

Mycroft had no facility to answer as he was quickly spiraling into a whirlpool of pleasure that would be embarrassing if… if his lover wasn’t so utterly flawless.  And very visibly caught in his own whirlpool, as well.

      “N… no answer?  Perfect.  Just keep helping me move with those amazing hands of yours and we’ll enjoy this for a bit.  And more kissing.”

Which the explorer quickly began while he allowed his own hands to run across Mycroft’s skin and rub against his deliciously-furred chest, something that continued until his lover’s breathing pattern began to change signaling their fun was reaching its apex and that certainly deserved a sense of occasion.

      “Close, love?  Here, let me help…”

Shifting slightly, Lestrade took both their hard cocks in his grasp and began stroking, using his free hand to hold Mycroft’s shoulder for balance and gazing directly into his lover’s widened eyes until Mycroft gasped sharply, then moaned a long, low sound that was soon followed by the explorer’s own bitten-off curse as his fingers were covered with a wealth of semen from two separate sources.

      “Gregory…”

      “Hmmmm?”

      “Oh… dear Gregory…”

Lestrade smiled widely and leaned in to give Mycroft a long kiss, sighing softly as two large, strong arms encircled his back to hold him fast.

      “Happy, Mycroft?”

      “What an insufficient word for my state of being.”

      “I’ll sit with one of those dictionaries and look for something better.”

Mycroft took a few more moments to catch his breath and admire the roguish smile on his explorer’s face.  The man could gift his love to anyone, positively anyone, but _he_ was the one to receive it.  Perhaps it was sinful to feel somewhat smug about that fact, but as he was coming to enjoy a bit of sin in his life, the potential moral downfall was not at all distressing.

      “See that you do.  But, my dear… your back?”

      “Fine!  I admit there’s some medical help making that possible, but it really _is_ a minor thing and I promise to be careful the rest of the night so that doesn’t change.  But… I’ll have a bit more laudanum before bed just in case we… have a hard time getting right to sleep.”

      “Gregory Lestrade, I will not allow carnal desire to imperil your health.”

      “You will and you’ll like it.”

      “No, your health and welfare are far too important to endanger.”

      “You’ll get to hold my hard, throbbing cock in those big hands of yours and make me see nothing but stars in my eyes.”

      “<……………………>”

      “Well?”

      “Laudanum is rather a wonder worker for pain and its associated ailments.”

      “It is, I thoroughly agree.  Now, a quick bit of freshening and we dress for dinner?”

      “A splendid suggestion.”

      “Of course, that means we actually _have_ to get dressed.”

      “It is an unfortunate truth, yes.  I find that I am most content to spend time unclothed.  It is a rather startling discovery, but not one I shall despise.”

      “Well, we have the bath and our bedroom where we can be as unclothed as we like.  Lock the doors of the library and your study and we can add two more rooms where we can… satisfy any unclothed urges.  Or any other urges that happen to arise.”

      “Yours is a keen and laudable mind, my dear.”

      “I have my moments.”

      “And urges.”

      “Which you love.”

      “That I do…” 


	30. Chapter 30

      “The level of acceptability of this situation stands squarely at naught.”

      “Yes, Sherlock, I know.  And I know because you’ve said similar at least three hundred times today.”

      “Balderdash.  Even the most rudimentary application of mathematics would show that, given the amount of manual labor I have suffered and the additional elements of conversation in which we have engaged, there is not sufficient time in the day for that to have occurred.”

      “Are you certain?  Why don’t you go and do the sums to prove your case and I’ll finish crating these instruments.”

      “We shall never see a mote of true research tonight and that is not something I find tolerable.”

      “That’s another thing you can include while doing your sums.”

      “John!”

John sighed, though he had to admit Sherlock had a point.  They had gone long past the hoped-for time to return home, but it was only in the last half-hour or so that Sherlock’s behavior had begun to slide, rather like a toddler who had been good all day and, now, was tired, hungry and bored.  And, _all_ day was the truth of it.  They’d labored hard and even Sherlock threw in to see progress made, but… yes, it was time to get some rest and start fresh tomorrow.

      “Once I finish with this crate, we can leave, alright?  Maybe Mrs. Hudson and your cook left us something to eat and then… I _am_ sorry, Sherlock, but I’ll be seeing my bed after that.  You should, too.  You saw as little sleep last night as I did and if you want to return here with me tomorrow, you’ll need to be at the top of your game.”

      “I took several small naps today, so I am extremely refreshed and ready to continue on.  Just not here.”

      “Was that where you were when I’d find myself talking to thin air?”

      “At times.”

      “Good for you, then.  I, however, need sleep and tonight is a simply cracking place to make a start at it.”

      “Tonight is not a place.”

      “See!  All muddled and fuddled and what good would that be to you in your lab?”

Sherlock opened his mouth, then scowled at John’s properly-made point and settled for pouting, instead.

      “But, I will say this… today was a good day.  Well, despite Greg the imbecile ruining his back, but, overall, today gives me some confidence that we’ll actually be properly prepared and supplied when we leave.  I’d really not thought the RGS would throw this much support into getting matters sorted, but the number of lads they’ve got working… how many appeared this afternoon, for instance?  Like a small army.”

      “One with a corpulent commander.”

John cut eyes over to Sherlock who gave him ‘oh yes’ eyes in return, which made the doctor huff with annoyance, then reconsider because… what was wrong with it?

      “Mycroft arranged that?”

      “A legion of workers arrives that surprised even the various nitwits that are supervising the laborers.  Couple that with the arrival of several carts of crates and barrels, more of which I suspect will arrive tomorrow… the stench of Mycroft’s interference is pungent and foul.”

      “Well, his pungency is going to make this whole business faster, more efficient and more effective, so I, for one, am not going to complain.  Think he’ll tell Greg?”

      “Pfft.  He will surely fret and dither about wounding Lestrade’s pride and take great pains to make no mention of his meddling.”

      “Then neither will we.  We’ll simply enjoy the boon and I’ll leave a note thanking Mycroft for his help for him to read after we’re gone.”

      “Do not place it near his sweets box or he surely consume it, mistaking it for an oddly-flattened piece of marzipan.”

      “Yes, time to call an official end to the night.  I suppose this lot won’t go anywhere before I finish crating them, so… shall we?”

Sherlock raced to snatch up his coat and hat, which he happily soiled with the various substances that clung to his fingers from the day’s work.

      “Why are we still here?”

      “Because I’m not a witch and can’t cast a spell to instantly douse the lamps, get my coat, lock the doors and convey us out onto the street.”

      “Your personal failings are not my concern.”

Laughing more to shake some of the exhaustion out of his bones than to reward Sherlock for his bastardy ways, John began doing the things his lack of witchcraft wouldn’t step in to resolve and, finally, marched the scientist out of the building.  The marching continued at good military pace until they saw a lonely cab that was happy for a fare and let wheels transport them home, rather than their somewhat achy feet.

Dragging out of the cab, John, naturally, paid the driver and followed Sherlock inside, making note of the rich, comforting smell of the fire and the more welcoming smell of whatever had been laid for dinner, some of which was surely waiting in the kitchen for two hungry workers.

      “Fancy a late nibble or am I eating alone?”

      “If I do not accompany you, you will likely fall asleep on your feet and, if you are most fortunate, be dragged towards the kitchen hearth by Toby to share his bed.”

      “He’s warm, so that’s good.  Always a kindness to have a warm body in bed with you when you’re falling down from working like a farm horse.”

      “Your standards are woefully low, John.”

      “Yeah, I’ve been told that before…”

__________

      “I suspected you would still be awake.”

Sherlock was home.  How glorious.

      “Yes, brother.  Marvel at the exceedingly familiar sight of me behind my desk, toiling away into the wee hours of the stygian night.”

      “Pfft.  You frittered away your evening with your pampered suitor and are now struggling to remediate your laxity with the admittedly tedious work you are tasked to perform.”

Well… frittered was not exactly how the time was used, however, Sherlock certainly did not require clarification of his terminology.

      “I will confess to sharing dinner with Gregory, as well as some relaxation that was highly necessary due to the condition of his back.  Given my life is now a shared one, it is to be expected that I must adjust my typical time budget to accommodate Gregory and his wants.  Fortunately, he is not a clinging vine and contentedly took to bed with a book to allow me to continue with my day’s work”

The contentment, of course, could, in no manner, be credited to an anticipation of a bracing tome in anxious hands.  Something else in hands was far more the issue and… oh dear, the feel of his love’s manhood pulsing against his fingers…

      “Flushing!  You will not entertain libidinous thoughts while I am present.”

That was actually exceedingly wise advice.

      “You are imagining libidinousness where there is none, brother.  Now, is it your intention to further disturb my work or are you simply paying a respectful call before retiring?”

      “Your fingers are in Lestrade’s pies.”

      “I… I honestly have no idea what that means.”

      “You provided support in preparing Lestrade and John’s expedition.”

Drat.  That was supposed to remain confidential for the time being, but given Sherlock was on site, perhaps that intention was somewhat appropriate.

      “Did I?  Oh.  Well done me, then.”

      “I would disagree.”

Oh… now that was interesting.

      “Explain.”

      “With your interference there is now a significant chance the expedition _will_ be ready in time for sailing.”

Yes, of course…

      “With my interference, the expedition that would have sailed _regardless_ of level of preparedness _will_ be prepared, so John and Gregory enjoy a safe and productive adventure.  Would you, instead, have them embark ill-equipped to handle the hardships and rigors of their journey?  Something that could be most dangerous for their well-being or have their expedition be deemed an unsuccessful one, which would reflect poorly on both of them?”

Yes, scowl the scowl of the discontented brother, but the scowl, also, of the one conceding the argument.

      “I have no wish to see John disgraced.”

      “Then there we have it.  In the spirit of full disclosure, yes, I set in motion certain initiatives to enhance the workforce and supplies for the expedition, however, I would ask that you not inform Gregory as…”

      “As you fear his overwhelming ego would implode and crush his vital organs.”

      “I would not use that particular turn of phrase, however the gist of your words is correct.  Now, if that was the root of your sour mood…”

      “John mentioned that you might, in the future, fund an expedition for him and me, in association with our research.”

Did he now… Doctor Watson was thinking in a most long-term fashion, was he not…

      “Ah… that is an intriguing suggestion.  Is that… would that be something you would enjoy?”

      “I… perhaps.”

      “But, you are unsure.”

Sherlock hurled himself into the chair across from Mycroft’s desk and sat sideways, dangling his feet over the arm.

      “John intimated it is not entirely a joyful affair, however, much of that was centered on the requirements of the RGS demands.  That would not exist if we were privately funded for all you would demand are any and all cake recipes we might acquire.”

It was an intriguing suggestion… Sherlock had an unparalleled thirst for knowledge and experience, things that would be handily satisfied on an expedition to a new land.  And, given John’s expertise with the preparation and management of such a thing… it was certainly feasible.

      “I despair that the ingredients would not easily be found in England, so you would surely have to port them back with you.  However… if that is something that holds appeal, we can surely discuss this further.  I would not be averse to funding such a thing, provided I was convinced you truly desired it and would benefit from the experience.  I shall consult with Gregory about the various perils, but if it appears they are surmountable by one unaccustomed to such a thing, I would see no reason to deny the monies you required.”

Of course, Mummy would be volcanically upset at the thought and would certainly make her displeasure known to him loudly and regularly, however, such was simply another burden of wearing the mantle of elder brother.  Though, as a shining spot of brightness, it would allow himself and Gregory full and unfettered access to the house without having to spare time and energy managing Sherlock’s various bouts of nonsense.

      “Truly?”

      “Yes.  I have always supported your interests, Sherlock, and see no reason to change that pattern, as long as I am convinced the benefits outweigh the dangers.”

      “Hmmmm… very well.  I will inform John and he may begin preparing a lecture on the topic for when he returns.’

      “Good, I am certain it will give him much-needed diversion on those lonely nights in… wherever he shall be.”

      “Better than counting the insects he has swatted on his skin.”

      “Yes… now, if you will excuse me…”

      “To what extent, currently, has Lestrade brought about your defilement?”

Mycroft was exceedingly happy he had not gone through with his moments-ago urge to cap off his brotherly discussion with a large and flavorful morsel of chocolate for it would have been villainously wasted as his astonished breath shot it across the room for the mice to claim as spoils of war.

      “I… I beg your pardon?”

      “I have ruminated on the implications of the conversation at breakfast and have come to the conclusion there is but a single road down which it could run. You have been debased.”

      “The relationship between Gregory and myself is none of your business, brother.”

      “Then you admit it.”

      “No, I am simply stating plainly that the details of his and my association are no business of anyone but ourselves.”

      “Describe in detail the nature of your wantonness so I might chastise you in a more informed fashion.”

It was him!  _He_ had been chosen to deliver Sherlock into the world of sexual abandon!  How did this happen?  He was not a criminal!  Oh doom… the clanging bells of doom…

      “I… no.”

      “Unacceptable.  However shall I know what accusations to lay at your feet if you do not disclose them to me?”

      “I counter with the unnecessity of that action and… go to bed.”

      “I refuse.”

      “Your refusal is not relevant.  Now, do scamper off and find a productive manner in which to while away your time.”

      “This is unquestionably productive, for it you are to be carted off for insanity due to Lestrade’s debauched ravaging of your body, I must have evidence to give the various incompetents as they attempt to affect some form of treatment for your madness.”

This was Hades!  He had fallen into the darkest, dankest pit of Hades and Sherlock was determined to seal the exit under a mountain of erotic rubble!

      “Sherlock… it is highly improper, incalculably indecent to make such inquiries.  What is done between couples to celebrate their love is entirely of no concern to anyone but them.”

      “Then you admit to the depravity.”

      “I admit to loving Gregory with all that I am, mind, body and spirit.  That is all.”

      “Describe the depravity.”

      “I decline.”

      “I shall acquire paper so you may sketch the offenses in order of their occurrence.”

      “I decline that, also.”

      “No, you will accede.”

      “I regret to inform you that I will not.”

      “I DEMAND THE DETAILS!”

Mycroft braced for an invasion of his study by all members of the household, then remembered that Sherlock’s outbursts were not exactly uncommon.  And… this was one, perhaps, that should not be shared with any other ears than his.  Poor Sherlock… this was staggeringly-unfamiliar waters and he obviously wished to navigate them smoothly.  The agony…

      “Sherlock… if you wish me to be forthcoming, I ask you do the same.  For what reason are you so intent on gaining this information?”

      “I… I intend on sharing it with Mummy and enjoying your subsequent thrashing.”

      “Do try again, brother, and remember that Mummy approves of Gregory’s and my relationship, in all of its aspects.”

      “Damnation.  Her accursed zeal for you to be married off, or ensnared by a reasonable approximation, has blinded her to the important matters in life.”

      “Are you now willing to speak candidly with me, brother?”

Sherlock’s thunderous scowl darkened the study with storm clouds, but the slight cut of eyes in Mycroft’s direction told the elder brother a break in the weather was about to occur.

      “I… I do not wish to disappoint John.”

It had been said on more than a single occasion that Mycroft’s heart was (a) non-existent, (b) made of stone, (c) black as coal at the bottom of a mine. Regardless it shattered into a hundred pieces hearing the deep concern and insecurity in his brother’s voice.

      “And I assure you, will full confidence, Sherlock, that you will not.  Given your broader scope of interests and taste for the lurid, I have no doubt that your current level of preparedness wildly outstrips what I possessed when first I began to take steps along this road.  I was… well, I shall confess that I was extremely uncertain, trepidatious, timid, riddled with a sense of wrongness that I knew, intellectually, was not the case… and I certainly had no concept of even the nature of the various depravities and debaucheries you seem to imagine is involved…”

How Gregory maintained patience through his introductory steps into the world of physical affection simply boggled the mind.  It was not every man who would show such patience, which only reinforced his lover’s quality of character, something that did appear to be shared by John.

      “… however, and this is key, Gregory understood the situation and treated me with utmost respect at all times.  I have no doubt there were times he felt some frustration at my naiveté and the glacially-slow pace of my growing comfort, however, he did not act upon it.  Never made me feel flawed or unsatisfactory in any fashion.  He recognized that he must move slowly, offer encouragement and… instruction… but accepted it gladly.  John will comport himself equally admirably, I am most certain.  Do not worry your lack of experience shall make you seem unworthy, brother.  It will not.”

Sherlock worried his thumb with his teeth and Mycroft settled in for the minutes it would take for his brother to process the information.  Ah, now a chocolate might be consumed without fear of creating a confection-based projectile.  Yes, truly delicious…

      “Is it…”

      “Yes, Sherlock?”

      ‘Is it worth… the ignominy?  While traversing the uncertainties?”

      “There is none, when one has found a man of quality to share one’s exploration.  There is… some internal infuriation at one’s own self for needing somewhat, shall we term it, gentle handling, however, it is the hallmark of a devoted relationship that each acts in support of the other.  John has demonstrated that he shall and can, so I truly believe you can set aside your worries.  I would advise, however, that you speak to John of this.  Communication is vital and, though it may not be comfortable, the benefits are unquestionable.”

While Mycroft ate a few more chocolates and thumbed through a selection of documents patiently waiting his attention, Sherlock desperately sought some flaw or untruth in his brother’s words and, ultimately, found none.  Besides, if someone as plodding and tedious as Mycroft could enter into a physical relationship that satisfied Lestrade, who was already firmly established as shamefully sexually promiscuous, then there was… there was _some_ assurance he could do the same for John.

      “I will consider your testimony.”

      “Excellent.”

      “I would ask one further thing, however.”

      “Which would be?”

      “Is… so much is made of… the sexual nature of life.  Is it… worthwhile?”

Oh… oh dear brother, you have such wonder yet to discover…

      “Yes, it is.  And, to date, Gregory and I have shared only the simplest manifestations of the act, but… it is profoundly rewarding and I do not mean that in the purely physical sense.  I would assume that with a person who held not your heart it would be pleasurable, else the city’s prostitutes would have long ago gone extinct, however, with one about whom you care… I have yet to adequately articulate my joy to Gregory and have had to rely upon his emotional awareness to glean the depth of my meaning.”

Sherlock nodded and Mycroft could only hope that he gave the words the credence they deserved.  His brother too often placed little stock in the assertions of others, but, on the issue of romance, he _had_ been more inclined to heed the words of his slightly ahead-in-the-race brother.

      ‘I am now leaving.  Return to your parchment and parlor games.”

Thank heavens.

      “I shall, brother dear, and with my most earnest enthusiasm.”

Sherlock’s snort was entirely expected, as was his speeding out of the study, but that he did snort and speed, as opposed to sigh and shamble, told Mycroft that his brother had achieved some clarity of thought and that was a highly agreeable thing.  He truly did not wish to contemplate having to repeat this experience, especially if Sherlock _did_ press for details and drawings.  Such things were better left to more highly-skilled individuals.  Gregory, for example.  He was a highly-appropriate candidate to host the next bout of dissertations on this particular topic and there was paper aplenty in the house for his instructional diagrams…

__________

      “John, I…”

Sherlock stared at the doctor, who was standing in his new bedroom, wearing nothing but his undergarments and growing angrier by the second.

      “Sherlock!”

      “Oh, yes.. right.  Must knock first.”

Leaping out of the bedroom and closing the door behind him, Sherlock dutifully knocked and John wondered if there was any point, any at all, in denying the scientist access.

      “Yes, Sherlock?  Do come in.”

      “I… I apologize.  I forgot about… prudery.”

And privacy and manners and typical civilized conduct, but John would let those pass given Sherlock actually _had_ apologized, in complete surprise to everyone on the planet.

      “Thank you.  Now… what can I do for you?”

      “I wish to declare my intentions to pursue a physical relationship with you, though I have no practical experience in the areas and will require both understanding and instruction.”

John now wondered if there were any ships departing for foreign ports in the next hour and if they had need of a qualified doctor.

      “Sherlock… that is… informative of you, however…”

      “Moreover, I suggest that we begin this tonight as the opportunities for furthering such a thing are growing quite slim.”

Of course.  However, there was no denying the truth of Sherlock’s statement and… it didn’t sound as if Sherlock was hoping for anything particularly… exotic… at the moment…

      “If, and note that I said if, I think this is a sound idea… what did you have in mind?”

No, don’t look so shyly gleeful… that is a look you wear far too wonderfully, Sherlock Holmes.

      “I would begin as did Mycroft and Lestrade.”

      “Oh, you want a kiss?  I… I suppose we’ve trodden that ground already, so…”

      “No, I want to sleep with you.”

HANG IT ALL I’LL PURCHASE A SHIP!  COST IS IMMATERIAL!

      “Why has your breathing become erratic?”

      “I… Sherlock, such a thing is rather a large initial step.”

      “How is sleeping in the same bed with another person a large step?  I rather suspect a large percentage of families in London are forced to endure such things as they are paupers and can afford only a single room, as well as a single bed, among them.”

      “Oh… oh, I see.  You mean _sleep_ sleep.”

      “That is nonsensical.”

      “Something I am now realizing.”

Because Sherlock’s knowledge of matters sexual likely lagged behind Mycroft’s, which was already best described as rudimentary.  Sleeping with Sherlock… well, Greg and Mycroft did that very thing and neither killed the other or drove the other racing to find alternate accommodations. In truth, they were both insufferably smug after the fact, bastards that they were.

      “Then… this is not something you would appreciate?”

      ‘I didn’t say that.  I was just a little thrown by the… suddenness of it all.  Actually…”

Looking at his bed, which was substantially larger that his one at the RGS and the scientist who was as thin as a rope, John decided that that there was sufficient room for any configuration of bodies to occur, from something close and personal, to each straddling an edge with a pillow between them.  Whatever might happen, there was room for it without… without making Sherlock uncomfortable.  Sherlock was brash and arrogant, but underneath all of that was a center that rivaled one of Mycroft’s chocolates in softness.  It would be terribly easy for him to jump into something only to find himself overwhelmed and that was _not_ acceptable.  There was not a lot of time, granted, before they set sail to learn the degree to which their relationship would blossom, but there was a _vast_ amount of time for that after he returned, so the various needs and curiosities were not, necessarily, pressing.  Certainly not worth rushing through, only to distress Sherlock and leave him with worries or doubts that would fester while they were away.

      “I don’t see a reason we can’t.  Bed’s certainly large enough for two and I was already prepared to share one with Toby.  You probably snore more than he does, though.”

      “I do not snore!  Certainly not as much as Toby, who rattles Cook’s pots when he is enjoying one of his innumerable naps.”

      “Well, I’ll find out for certain, now won’t I?  Off with you to get ready and I’ll do the same.  Though I’m half of the way there, already, so if you don’t mind…”

John pointed towards the door and tried to maintain his stern expression as Sherlock’s face lit up with a smile before darting off to get himself ready for bed.  Luckily, with five minutes of contact with his pillow, this brain was going to shut off completely and the night was going to pass by in a blink.  Tomorrow night… what that would bring was a worry for another day.  Tomorrow, for example…

__________

      “I am knocking.”

      “No, you’re yelling at me through the door.”

      “It is equally effective and does not hurt my knuckles.”

      “Fair enough.  Come in, Sherlock.”

Sherlock peeked around the door, as if he was checking for bandits, then strolled in, wearing his nightshirt and, what John thought was a very flattering dressing gown.

      “You are on my side of the bed.”

      “No, I’m on my side and since this is my bed, I win.”

      “It is Mycroft’s bed and I am his heir, so I win.”

      “Mycroft’s not dead so bugger off with your lofty aspirations.  I win.”

Sherlock made a rude noise, which John countered with a ruder gesture to maintain the stalemate.

      “Very well.  But if my sleep is compromised, the blame will rest squarely on your shoulders.”

      “Lucky I’ve got strong legs, then.”

Making a second rude noise flitted through Sherlock’s mind, but he pushed it aside as John would certainly reply with something truly vile and, while that would be interesting to observe, it would continue to balance the scales and… John was tired.  Continued battle would not help with that, entertaining as it might be.

      “I am now going to bed.  Cease with your petty disturbances or the peril will be monstrous.”

John rolled his eyes, but turned down the blanket on Sherlock’s undesirable side of the bed as a signal to follow through with the actual going to bed, which after a moment, Sherlock did with a toss of his dressing gown on the chair and an admirably acrobatic feat of stepping first on the small bench at the foot of the bed, then walking up the mattress to drop onto his spot, nearly hurling John onto the floor, and nestle between the blankets.

      “There.  I am in bed.”

      “Bravo.  Her Majesty likely has your medal, title and lands at the ready.”

      “I will refuse outright as I have no interest in managing tenants or attending pointless peerage functions.”

      “Good to know.  Now, goodnight, Sherlock.  Tomorrow’s a busy day, so sleep well.”

      “How I sleep depends entirely on environmental factors and my responses to them.”

      “Meaning?”

      “Do not wriggle.”

      “How am I supposed to not wriggle if I’m asleep?”

      “Implement whatever internal controls you possess to forestall occurrences of wriggling.  Or snoring.  Flatulence is also prohibited, though I recognize that might be more difficult to accomplish and will issue censure only if it occurs in excess.”

      “Is there anything I can do that won’t see me censured?”

Sherlock made a grand show of, repeatedly, thinking, having a thought, then discarding it before John reached under his head, grabbed his pillow and smacked Sherlock directly in the face with its feathery mass.

      “Bastard.”

      “Oh very well… you may provide me a goodnight kiss.”

The slightly muffled suggestion had John removing the pillow and giving Sherlock his most exasperated huff.

      “You make the most demanding of demands, don’t you?”

      “It is the mark of a genius that we hold ourselves and others to the highest expectations.”

      “I suppose I’ve got no choice, then…”

John leaned down and gently kissed Sherlock’s lips, then slightly less gently since the first kiss felt very, very good, in his humble opinion.

      “There.  Think you can sleep now?”

      “Provided the wriggling, snoring and flatulence provisions of our contract are upheld, yes.”

Sherlock would ever be Sherlock… but there was nothing wrong with that, really.

      “I’ll do my best.  Goodnight, Sherlock.”

      “Goodnight, John.  I… I will escort you to breakfast in the morning.”

Nothing wrong with being Sherlock, at all…

      “I’d like that.”

      “Of course you would, I am a highly scintillating breakfast companion.”

Maybe a little wrong with being Sherlock… but only a little…

__________

Awake.  Alive and awake.  And caught in the tentacles of a kraken… who was wriggling in complete violation of his own damnable contract.

      “Sherlock?”

      “Ah, you are awake.”

      “And, so are you, apparently.”

      “I… only this moment, actually.”

      “Does that explain why you’re attempting to drag me in like one of those cave-dwelling monsters you read about in the stories?”

      “… perhaps.”

      “Well… alright, then.  Good to know you’re amenable to warming a body in exceptional Toby fashion both when you’re asleep and when you’re awake.”

      “I am far better at warmth-provisioning than Toby!”

      “Something I hope I actually never have to find out.  I’m content enough with this.”

There was a moment of silence before John enjoyed another Sherlock wriggle and saw the light of Sherlock’s self-satisfaction brightening the room.

      “I would expect no less.  It _is_ a contenting thing, I must admit.  I believe this will make a superlative addition to our sleeping together.”

      “Alright, bit of cuddling added to a goodnight kiss.”

      “And a good morning kiss.”

      “We can add that, too.  I think there’s still room on the bed contract to append that at the bottom.”

      “I would like my kiss now.”

John tried to turn, then had to use his arms to ease Sherlock’s death grip so he could turn and gave the scientist a warm, lazy kiss.

      “You have halitosis.”

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  That’s a good thing to know.  Completely normal, too, so you may want to rethink your good morning kiss proviso.”

      “Hmmmm… I believe I may be able to formulate a tincture of some form that can be taken before bed to alleviate the worst of the condition.”

      “You have to take it, too, so you might want to make very certain it doesn’t taste like horse piss.”

      “I do not have halitosis.”

      “Yeah, you do.”

      “Truly?”

      “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but… it’s part of being human.”

      “I am far superior to most humans.”

      “Not in this, you aren’t.”

      “Oh.  Then I shall put my most ardent effort into the research.”

      “Good!  In the meantime, since it’s not so bad that birds are falling from the sky, how about another kiss and then, after breakfast, we’ll have a good go with the tooth powder.”

      “That is acceptable.  Further, I shall demand fruit be added to our plates, as the sweet aroma will moderate the odor in the event that another kiss is required before breakfast ends.”

      “That’s quality thinking, Sherlock.  True and proper planning.”

      “Of course.  Genius…”

      “How could I ever forget?”

__________

      “Where have you been?  John and I have been perishing from hunger.”

Mycroft and Lestrade stared at the two men already at breakfast, one who was merrily eating and the other who was being… Sherlock.

      “Yes, I see that, brother dear.  John has positively wasted away from the lack of food he is currently depositing into his mouth.”

      “I’m a wisp, Mycroft.  At least, that’s what Sherlock told me to say.  Not really sure what a wisp looks like, but now he can’t chide me for being uncooperative.”

Greg and Mycroft smiled fondly at how facilely John handled his handful of vexation and shared the hope that this continued far into the future.

      “Excellent, John.  It is always best to avoid a chiding when one can.  My dear, shall we?”

And, by ‘shall we’ I do mean replenish our storehouse of energy after the rather… depleting… activities we have so recently enjoyed.   The physical component of adoration was an indescribably enjoyable one, but it did leave one most hungry in the aftermath.  Or, perhaps, that was only noted for those with a _particularly_ devoted union…

      “How’s your back, mate?”

      “Good, no credit to you, you useless doctor.”

      “I told you to go home, didn’t I?  Seems like that was the correct advice.”

      “Only because I had access to a hot bath, brandy and laudanum to make life a much happier thing.  And, of course, a Mycroft to make certain I was tended with all proper care and attention.”

John averted his eyes from the adoring gazes being shared across the table and was very happy he and Sherlock weren’t so ridiculously besotted.  They were… soberly besotted.  That was an entirely different, and mature, thing.

      “John would have provided all of those things if we were not in the slums laboring like peasants, for he also demonstrates care and attention.  For example, he demonstrated acceptable success meeting my demands of no wriggling, snoring or flatulence while we were in bed.  There is room for improvement, but for a first foray into our new sleeping arrangements, it was not entirely unsatisfactory.”

John’s soft, weary sigh did nothing to dim the force of Sherlock’s proud smile, nor did the astonished stares of Mycroft and Lestrade.  Who, very, very wisely, did not verbalize their shock for fear of scaring Sherlock into questioning his and John’s achievement.  However, some degree of throat clearing was required before Mycroft could articulate a response.

      “That is heartening to know, brother, as one should have in one’s bed only another who is agreeable to the terms and conditions _of_ the bed sharing.  My dear, do you agree?”

      “Oh!  Oh yes… yes, that’s absolutely the case.  No doubt there… Otherwise it’s a misery and that’s the very opposite of what you want.”

Now, fix that horrid doctor with the unwavering grin of wickedness until he stares back with the ‘you’re in for a pummeling glare.’  This day was off to a rollicking start!  And his back felt amazing… those large hands of Mycroft’s were perfect for kneading the stiffness out of sore muscles… as well as for other things that made this morning something especially special, indeed.

      “There, both Gregory and I concur.  Ah… and here is our own lack of nourishment placed invisibly before us on the table.  It does smell rather delicious for a figment of my imagination.”

The maid serving the plates desperately hoped her tiny titter wasn’t audible because… this was grand!  Mr. Holmes making jokes, Mr. Sherlock not exploding the house every other day and… they were happy.  Didn’t matter if they’d found it with other blokes, no matter what people might say.  They were happy, the household was happy and a happy household was one that ran far more smoothly than one that didn’t.  And it paid better, too…

      “You have no humor, Mycroft.”

      “You have no bun, Sherlock.”

Which was proved by the use of Mycroft’s fork to steal it from the plate as the girl passed to deliver the Sherlock’s meal.

      “Theft!”

      “Don’t think the constables will be overly concerned about bun burglary, lad, but if we see any on the way to the docks, I’ll make inquiries.”

      “You, also, have no humor, Lestrade.”

      “Another reason Mycroft and I are perfect for each other.”

Sharing a grin with the serving maid as she returned to the kitchen, Mrs. Hudson continued her spying on the proceedings and breathed a small sigh of relief that her Sherlock hadn’t reacted poorly or had a change of heart concerning his new arrangements with Doctor Watson.  Well now, that was one less bed she had to make each day, which was a blessing, and would leave her more time to gossip with Mrs. Turner about the valiant explorer and stalwart doctor taking ‘temporary’ accommodations in Mr. Holmes house while they prepared to go off to wild and savage lands.  The woman had nothing to compare with that, so in the competition of household news, she was the unquestioned victor.  Mr. Holmes would be happy, more than happy, to award her a fresh bottle of gin for that handy defeat of the neighbors.  And, how fortunate she was placing a spirits order this very day…


	31. Chapter 31

There were times, few and far between, when the universe aligned its stars in the correct position so that happy coincidences occurred.  Such must be happening now, in Mycroft’s opinion, since the rather pressing and time-consuming matter concerning certain tempestuous members of Parliament and easily-offended foreign dignitaries that had his attention fully occupied married well with Gregory’s own demanding schedule so that he did not give profound offense when he had little time to offer the man he loved.  These last days had seen both of them sharing a quick breakfast and seeing naught of each other beside a few passing words until they took to bed at night.  His one concession, which was highly appreciated by his love, was imposing on himself a mandated number of hours of sleep, so that he could share, at the very least, the warmth of his Gregory’s body as they rested.  And, somewhat to his surprise, the world did not cease to spin on its axis because of it.

      “There’s my Mycroft.  Awake and gorgeous.  How was your sleep, love?”

Indescribable, for you were with me…

      “Excellent.  I have found, most unexpectedly, that my sleep is deeper and more sound now that you are in my bed.”

Lestrade smiled and wondered how many in London would predict that Mycroft Holmes was an incalculably romantic man.  Exceedingly few, most likely, and wasn’t that a good thing for him.  The fewer competitors for this delicious man, the better.

      “Something I’ve noticed myself.  Typically, I sleep lightly because it’s not a terribly wise idea to sleep too deeply when you might need to start running at a moment’s notice, say, when a rather irritated and venomous snake has decided to pay a visit to your tent, but… I’ve slept very well here with you.  You’re good for me in so many ways, my dear Holmes.”

      “You are too kind, my dear Lestrade.  Now, might I suppose your day shall be as onerous as usual?”

      “I…. you might, however…”

      “Yes?”

      “We’re set to finish a few things today, actually.  The extra lads laid on for the work have been amazing and we’ve got supplies coming in faster than expected, too. so there’s no particular reason I couldn’t have a night or two before I leave that’s… well, that’s not devoted to preparations.  Could, in fact, be devoted to something… or someone… else.”

      “Oh… how very interesting.”

      “I’m glad you think so because if and when you see a bit of ease in your own area, tell me and…a nice dinner, some time for good whisky and conversation… I adore spending time with you, love, and don’t want to leave without seeing as much of it as I can.  And… I want to ensure you’re tended to properly, as well.  You work so bloody hard and… I just want to give you as much of my attention and time as possible so you can set aside your burdens and let me help you relax.  Enjoy some reward, something for yourself for all the miserable hours you labor to see this country safe and functioning.  Do you think you’ll see a little time for us before I go?  I know you’re fantastically busy right now, but…”

Mycroft reached out a finger and pressed it to Lestrade’s lips, smiling softly when it was sucked inside the explorer’s mouth for every sort of scandalous treatment imaginable by the human tongue.

      “Would tonight do?”

      “Tmnght?”

      “Rather like you, I have seen admirable progress on current issues and there would be no damage done if I was to set aside my obligations for a night to join you in whatever you desire.”

Mycroft gently tugged his finger out of Greg’s mouth, despite the resistance said mouth put up to the abandonment and used it to bop the explorer’s nose to emphasize his point.

      “Really, love?”

      “I would not lie about a matter of such importance.”

      “Then It would be disrespectful to refuse your offer.”

      “Most certainly.”

      “Out or in?”

      “Pardon?”

      “Shall we dine in or out this evening?”

      “Ah… quite the conundrum, given both options are highly appealing.”

      “If we remain here, we _could_ have guests…”

      “I shall dispatch a message this morning and secure for us an excellent table at a fine establishment.”

      “That sounds perfect.”

And perfect suggestions warranted kisses, didn’t they? Lots of them, in fact.  Or one long one broken into smaller pieces, married with a wealth of roaming hands and pressing together of eager bodies that had learned mornings were exceptional times to indulge in the more carnal pleasures of life.  And offered something delightful to back upon during the more trying parts of the day…

__________

      “Hmmmm…”

      “Sherlock?”

      “Expeditions require a great deal of preparation.”

John stared, then stared some more and tried to detect any sign of health problems that had suddenly caused Sherlock to experience some form of mental defect.

      “You’re just noticing this now?”

      “Don’t be silly, John.  I simply… as we are agreed to go on expedition together, I am realizing the scope of preparatory work and wondering if it would be prudent to make a start on that while you are away on this far less important venture.”

Now, the staring tripled in intensity and John debated launching into this discussion or erasing the conversation wholly from his mind.  Ultimately, curiosity won out and onward he rode.

      “I remember discussing the possibility, however, the bit about agreeing wasn’t part of the conversation.”

      “Mycroft has agreed to fund us and I believe that was the lion’s share of the uncertainty concerning the expedition.  Now that obstacle has been removed, we may begin our own planning.”

      “And when did Mycroft say this?”

      “A few days ago.”

      “None of which you bothered to share with me.”

      “What do you think I am doing now?”

The large sigh was more to give John a second to think than to clear his lungs of stale air.  He’d mostly suggested the idea of a private expedition to dissuade Sherlock from trying to join this one, but… it wasn’t the worst idea in existence.  If they were properly provisioned and went to an area with which he already had some familiarity, it could be a productive experience and one that would be safe for someone completely unaware of just what hazards could await a body taking on nature when nature had, by far, the upper hand.

      “Well, you could have mentioned it sooner.”

      “As long as I raised the issue before you left, the outcome would be the same, so the exact moment of announcement was irrelevant.”

      “I shall now impart unto you a measure of profound wisdom, Sherlock Holmes.  Sooner is always better than later when it comes to conversations involving matters of importance.”

      “I could offer numerous examples to disprove your assertion.”

      “Let me clarify, then.  With me, with matters pertaining to me, with actions involving me… sooner!  Sooner than later, do you understand?”

      “Your words were small and easy to comprehend.”

      “Good.  Now… Mycroft really said he’d fund an expedition?”

      “I am not entirely certain if it is to facilitate our research or to rid the house of our presence, however, the end result is the same and to our benefit.”

Probably an equal amount of each, but as Sherlock said, the end result was certainly the same and, perhaps, a very favorable one.  The ability to plan and execute his own expedition, with his own goals and timeframe… there was an attractiveness to that proposition that couldn’t be denied.

      “How long a term were you considering?”

      “As long as necessary, I suppose.  I have, I admit, little reference for the time required to accomplish the objectives we may set out to achieve and, frankly, the nature of those objectives, as well… I would have to rely heavily on your knowledge and experience for that.”

For Sherlock, that was actually the height of flattery.

      “Alright… then I suppose we’ll have to put some flesh on the bones of those objectives first.”

      “This is why I broached the topic at this point.  Lestrade has already declared today to be thrown into the rubbish…”

      “Greg said he’d be leaving at a reasonable time and escorting your brother to dinner!”

      “As I said, a day for rubbish.  Given his slothful behavior, I see no reason why _we_ should toil like laborers and, instead, take the opportunity to begin planning our journey.”

Which, if one employed a translator who spoke Sherlock, meant the scientist was hoping for an early day, as well, to do something enjoyable.  Planning paired very well with good food and good ale, so maybe Greg and Mycroft weren’t the only couple who could have for themselves a night enjoying the finest London had to offer.  Or the finest London had to offer a doctor with a modest purse and scientist with one that apparently lived up his arse because it never saw the light of day.

      “A few hearty chops and a healthy amount of ale?”

      “When you are fed you do evince a greater level of a focus than when you are hungry, so I will support that suggestion.”

      “You could have just said ‘yes,’ you know.”

      “A supported response is a more valid one.”

      “I can’t argue with that.”

      “No, I am certain you can, however, you are being agreeable because you are now thinking of food and drink and argument will prolong the time until you receive it.”

      “Another thing I can’t argue with.”

      “Then we should leave, because you will now be useless for anything until you are provided with plate and mug.”

      “And that’s three.  Three inarguable statements means we’re free!”

John raised his hands in glorious victory while Sherlock snorted at the silliness, though the snorting did not stop him rising to grab his outerwear from their hooks and begin tapping his foot in impatience.

      “Oh happy day, Sherlock is waiting for me.”

      “I shall also pay for our meal.”

Falling out of his chair might have been a bit dramatic, but it made Sherlock smile and that, plus a free dinner, was a wealth of riches worth acknowledging with a bit of drama.

      “I did not say I would fund both a dinner and a night of theater.”

      “Not even one coin you’ll toss on stage?”

Sherlock dug in his pocket and flipped a coin so that landed directly in front of John’s nose.

      “ _That_ was a good toss.”

      “We shall have a combined act.  You can engage in amateur dramatics and I shall demonstrate my keen marksmanship with coins.”

      “Might earn enough money that way to fund our own expedition with Mycroft’s help.”

      “Which would handily sever the umbilicus between my brother and our plans.  We will discuss this in greater depth at dinner.”

John shook his head, then remembered he was on the ground when his nose smacked the floor and hopped up to dust off his clothes and retrieve his own jacket.

      “And a rousing discussion it shall be.  Costumes?”

      “Hmmm… I will bring paper to make some preliminary sketches.”

      “I want to be in red, just so you know.”

      “Too garish.  Green, I think.”

      “I’ll look like a leaf!”

      “More like a newly-sprouted pea plant, but that, also, can be discussed over dinner.”

      “No peas, though.  I will not stand accused of cannibalism.”

      “Your morals do you credit.”

__________

Stars above… that was the sort of night a man could look back on fondly when he was lying lonely in his tent and feel the loneliness fade away into distance.  His Mycroft, looking as if he ruled the world, enjoying a splendid meal would be enough to savor for a very long time, but add in the way his love now sat in his chair, looking like a king on his throne, with a gentle smile on his face as they discussed the little things people in love talk about over a whisky, in front of a fire… this was the meaning of perfection.

      “My dear?  You appear lost in thought.”

True, but being lost had never been more fun.

      “To an extent.  Just… memorizing.”

      “Oh, might I ask what?”

      “You.  You here tonight.  All of this.  I love my work, there’s no doubting that, but I won’t deny it’s hard and lonely a great deal of the time.  This sort of thing is what will keep a smile on my face when we’re five days into a ten day walk across beautiful, but uneventful terrain.  When it’s another night of rain and I’m alone in my tent with nothing but a book for company.  Remembering moments like these and anticipating more when I’m home again… that’s what’ll make those nights something better than simply bearable.”

And I will also memorize that shy smile of yours, Mr. Holmes, because it is a treasure beyond price.

      “Thank you, Gregory.  And I will admit to doing much the same these last days.  Mrs. Hudson has happily reminded me that, given the continuous demands of my responsibilities, time shall pass more quickly than the pace I currently dread, but… holding fast to the glorious memories of you and our time together shall quicken the stride of time even further.  Or, at least, that is what I am determined to believe come heaven or hell.”

      “She does have a point.  It’s strange how individual days can seem punishingly long, yet weeks and months fly by, in comparison, but that’s what happens, often, when I’m away.  I make note of the date in my journal and it hits me suddenly how long it’s been since we reached an area, when it feels as if we only arrived the week before.  That’s hopeful to think about, really.”

      “It is and… it is not as if I have regarded most of life through a solitary lens so that the view is an unfamiliar and unsettling one.  That I prefer the lens of loving companionship does not make the other appreciably startling.”

      “And we’ve still got a few days to make more of those lovely memories, don’t we?  I admit… these days _have_ flown by like falcons, but we’ve made good use of them and the remainder will see more of that good use come to pass.  In fact…”

There was little that Mycroft adored more than when his lover paused his conversation and adopted a highly wicked grin as a form of punctuation.

      “I believe my Gregory has struck upon an idea.”

      “Maybe.  Got paper in here?”

      “A bit, though greater quantities of it are in my study.”

      “The type of paper to draw on, I mean.”

Oh….

      “Yes, actually.  Occasionally, I have used the more convivial atmosphere of the library and the somewhat clearer table near the window for work with various maps and sketching strategies for… various reasons.”

      “Well… I’m cozily warm on the inside from this excellent whisky and the fire would keep me cozily warm on the outside… especially if there weren’t any clothes in the way between the heat and my skin…”

Oh dear heavens…

      “I did say, if you remember, that I would pose for you and time is certainly growing short.  Care to spend some time making a sketch of me that can’t be seen by any other eyes than yours?”

Lestrade crossed his fingers that the widened eyes and sharp intake of breath wasn’t the signal for his lover’s imminent death and only uncrossed them when Mycroft pushed himself out of his chair and moved as quickly as he could to lock the door, then snatch a decorative cloth from a side table to jam into the keyhole as added security.

      “I… I would consider it an honor, my dear.”

      “Alright, then.  You gather your paper and pencil and I’ll… well, I’ll get ready.”

That peek of your tongue, Gregory Lestrade, is the height of sauciness.  Fortunately, I have quite a taste for the saucy... and when I enjoy a taste, my appetite know no bounds…

__________

      “How are things coming, love?”

Now that my hand has stopped shaking, progress is being made.  It was most kind of you not to comment upon the initial attempts, which lie balled and discarded at my feet due to my pencil skipping its way across the page as my pounding heartbeat shook the entirety of my form.

      “Very nicely.  In truth, I have nearly accomplished what I set out to do.”

      “Oh?”

      “When I gaze upon you, my dear, I see a vision as natural and eternal as any of da Vinci’s sketches and, that is how I have chosen to render you.  Not in minute detail, for that can be done later when time is more abundant, but… I wanted to capture your essence.  The vitality and masculinity that you exude like no other.  You are a strong, sensual and virile man, Gregory, and it is those things I hoped to infuse in my portrayal.  I… I feel I have done that.  At least to the best of my untrained ability.”

      “Can I see?”

A surge of hesitance rose in Mycroft, but it was centered squarely on his artistic abilities and not the rather scandalous subject of his sketch.  He had never, not a single time, attempted such a thing and… no, it was foolish to be embarrassed.  Gregory would not mock or deride, no matter the quality of the artistry.

      “Of course.”

Lestrade made certain to stretch his naked body in the most sinuous manner possible before leaving his impromptu bower of cushions and Mycroft’s thick and luxurious rug and slowly swaggered towards his lover, who watched each and every motion with rapt attention.  And, that attention stayed fully in place as the explorer carefully positioned himself to sit on Mycroft’s lap.

      “That’s… that’s fantastic, love.  I do _not_ look that beautiful, but what you’ve drawn is a marvel.  You were worried about it being rubbish, weren’t you?”

      “I admit I was not entirely confident about the technical aspects.”

      “Pfft.  The technical aspects are fine, but… it’s the emotion, here, that’s brilliant.  I can see, in this one sketch, how much you love me.  I couldn’t explain how, I can’t point to any specific thing and say ‘there, there it is!’ but… oh love, this is…”

The sheer astonishment and joy in his Gregory’s eyes erased forever Mycroft’s concerns about his meager talent.  If his beloved admired it, then nothing else was relevant.

      “I am happy you approve, my dear.  And, yes… my affection for you was the inspiration for this piece.  Your body is breathtaking and it impacts me strongly, as you well know, however, it pales, really, to the impact of the love I carry for you in my heart.  I never imagined one could be so profoundly moved by such a thing, yet I cannot and will never deny the truth of it.”

      “You know… I have a tiny amount of talent with a pencil myself.”

      “Are you suggesting…”

      “Not tonight, because I’m not in a mood to draw, but, oh yes… I would love to have you pose for me, as well.  Your body stirs me in all the most delightful ways and I would adore having a drawing of that loveliness to gaze upon when you’re not with me.  Should I tell you that I’d probably look at it and treat myself to a small amount of private entertainment once the lads in camp have got to sleep for the night?  Nah, maybe I should keep that information to myself.”

Smiling naughtily will only serve to further cement your reputation as a rapscallion, Gregory Lestrade.  Something I approve of most heartily.

      “You are a _primal_ creature, are you not, my beloved.”

      “A bit.  For example, look at how my primalness is already taking an interest in our conversation.”

Mycroft glanced down and felt a lick of arousal up his spine at the sight of Lestrade’s plump cock, seemingly lying in wait to be encouraged along to something far more rigid and possessed of intent.

      “Gregory…”

      “Can’t help it, can I?  Sitting here on your lap like one of those pampered cats.  In fact, pampered cats like to be petted so…”

The pointed look Greg gave Mycroft birthed another small gasp, but this one was in anticipation of a very delightful turn of events.

      “They do, or so I have been told.”

And wasn’t it fortunate that he could easily set aside his sketch and find his arm free to begin paying his cat proper respect.

      “Ummmm… that feels good.”

Not that having your cock stroked by the large, warm hand of your lover could feel anything but good.  His Mycroft was a very quick study, too, and knew just what to do to make that good feeling grow into something you couldn’t help but moan about.  And spread your legs a little wider in response.

      “The sounds you make, Gregory… no music is finer to my ears.”

      “You’ll hear a symphony i… if you keep on like that.”

      “Then continue on I shall for I am a staunch supporter of the arts.”

And a staunch supporter of giving his love every bit of pleasure imaginable.  To watch him, hear him, feel his body move as it reveled in its ecstasy… the decadence of this moment was indescribable and so utterly magical… he could direct his Gregory’s experience, cresting and ebbing as he chose, and there was a particular thrill in that, too, one he was happy to enjoy for a goodly while.

      “Mycroft…”

      “Now, now, my dear… let me savor for as long as possible the beauty of your passion.”

And the knowledge that I am capable of giving this to you…

      “F…faster? Just a little?”

      “Hmmmm… not this moment, I believe.”

      “Please…”

      “No, I think not.  The urgency of your movements, the glow of your need, is _intoxicating_ to watch.”

This, also, am I memorizing, dearest Gregory, for your majesty shall light my mind no matter the dark times I experience while you are away.

      ‘Mycroft, please…”

      “Just a little longer, my beloved.  You are utterly magnificent in your arousal…”

Though it was criminally unfair to allow his Gregory to linger too long in such a state, so just a few moments more… then a touch more speed and pressure to bring his love’s voice to the fore…

      “ _Yes_ … oh yes… I’m… I’m very close…”

      “Excellent, my dear.  I shall greatly enjoy watching you show your appreciation for my attentions.”

And a stellar show it was… his Gregory’s body tightening and shuddering in his arms, a look of pure rapture on his face…

      “Oh god… you are a villain, Mycroft.  A beautiful, perfect, amazing villain…”

Who is desperately in love with your contented smile.

      “Thank you.  I am happy my nefarious ways have met your standard.”

      “Met and exceeded.  Whoooo… that was… nope, not even going to try to describe it.  Words are your forte, not mine.  I’ll just do this…”

Repositioning slightly so he could take his Mycroft in a long kiss, Lestrade made very certain to keep any sullying off of his love’s fine clothes, but wondered if a little mussing might not be prohibitive.

      “I love you, my dear Mycroft.  And… I’d like to show you how deeply, if I may.”

Since his Gregory did that with every breath he spoke and motion he made… something new was in the air.

      “I would be delighted.”

Yes, you will, Mr. Holmes.  Provided you don’t have a nervous fit first when you realize what I’m going to do.

      “Alright, then.  Let me have a small moment to hop up and wipe myself clean… yes, I do have a handkerchief in my pocket because I am an explorer and prepared for any situation.  Now, oh how gorgeous you look sitting there.  But, maybe I can make you a touch more gorgeous…”

Lestrade smiled wickedly and strode back towards Mycroft’s chair, dropping to his knees in front of his Holmes and keeping the smile on his face as he worked the buttons of Mycroft’s trousers and the thin drawers he had beneath them, adoring how shallow his lover’s breath was becoming as his arousal escalated.  The sight of this raggedy explorer’s well-preserved body, naked and on its knees, was obviously something his dear Mycroft liked… a lot.  Good, because it was something he was happy to do as often as His Majesty desired.

      “Gregory… what are you…”

      “Something I’ve always wanted to do with you.”

Drawing Mycroft’s cock into the open, Lestrade fixed his eyes on his lover’s and leaned forward to give it a soft kiss on its tip, pausing a moment to let the earthquake of trembling race through his Mycroft’s body.

      “Oh dear heavens… Gregory…!”

      “You say my name so wonderfully, love.  Now, let me make you feel as wonderful as that sounds in my ears.”

Still watching closely for any sign this was going in an uncomfortable direction for his partner, the explorer gave the head of Mycroft’s cock a long lick and smiled at the deep, throaty groan he earned for his efforts.  He was going to need to go carefully because his dear Mycroft was already racing to orgasm and it simply would not do to allow that to happen in any other fashion than sssllllooooowwwwwwlllllyyyyy….

And slow was certainly the game as the explorer took pains to languidly lick up the shaft of his lover’s cock and swirl his tongue around the head like it was one of Mycroft’s fine chocolates.  That, of course was easier said than done as the body he was pleasuring seemed determined to shake itself into pieces.  A few kisses pressed _very_ low on Mycroft’s belly helped calm his beloved slightly or, at least, give him time to draw his nerves back under control, something which fell apart again when the kissing returned to more sensitive portions of his anatomy.

      “So delicious.  Your skin is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.  Well… for now…”

Sucking replaced kissing as Lestrade drew the tip of Mycroft’s cock into his mouth and slid it in further so the whole head could be gently sucked while his lover gripped the arms of his chair so forcefully there were sure to be fingerprints left in the wood.

      “Gr… Gregory…”

      “Hmmmmm…”

Oh yes, humming against that very sensitive region drew some amazing sounds from his Mycroft’s mouth.  That deserved a little tongue work with his sucking so his love started to thrust for greater depth.  Fortunately, that desire was easy to oblige…

      “Odin’s missing eye!”

Oh, so his dearest liked slow, deep sucking.  Good.  Because that was what he was going to get for awhile, so he could writhe and curse and plead to his heart’s content.  Not going to rush this, not for a moment.  His Mycroft’s long, lovely cock in his mouth… this was worth taking slow.  Making this gorgeous man come undone so completely, letting his tongue write love letters along the hard shaft while he drew his lover in deeper.

      “Gr.. Gr.. Gregory… I shan’t restrain much longer!”

Close?  Well, there were ways to deal with that so their fun lasted a bit longer, but maybe that should be saved for another time.  Now, all that mattered was his Mycroft seeing stars in his eyes…

Sucking harder and faster, Lestrade used a hand to reach in to rub Mycroft’s tight, heavy balls and it wasn’t another ten seconds before his Holmes was making the most savage sound Lestrade ever heard and sending hard splashes of semen into the back of the explorer’s throat.  Slowing his motions, Lestrade gradually pulled off his lover’s softening cock and nuzzled Mycroft’s belly a moment before rocking back on his heels and licking his lips at the sight of an utterly destroyed Holmes, looking as wild and disheveled as he had ever seen him.  It was a look his dearly beloved wore well.

      “So gorgeous.  That’s the sight of a man who has been well-pleasured and there’s nothing more beautiful than my contented Mycroft.”

      “I… Gregory…”

      “Yes, love…”

      “Is that… do you… was it enjoyable for you?”

No one could ever tell him he wasn’t the luckiest bastard in the world.

      “ _Highly_ enjoyable.  Your cock in mouth, the taste and scent of your body, my ears filled with the scandalous sounds you make… if my own lad wasn’t spent, I’d be hard and begging for your touch this very instant.  Anytime, love… anytime you feel the need, I will suck you down my throat and drink every sip of your release.”

The sharply-shuddered breath told the explorer that his dear Mycroft was already planning their next encounter and it would occur much sooner than later.

      “Now, let me tuck you away and we can sip a little whisky, with me on your lap, and you can do with me as you like while we chat about… whatever we dashed well please.  How does that sound?”

      “Euphoric.  You know, like no other, how to elevate me to a state of true euphoria.”

      “Then let’s get on it!  No use being euphoric if you can’t savor it as long as possible.”

Rising as quickly as his middle-aged knees would allow, Lestrade smiled and strutted over to refill their whisky, adoring Mycroft’s appreciative hum as he showed off his form in all its glory.  His love was embracing the idea of intimacy very quickly and _very_ tightly, which could only be described as incredible.  This spoke very well on the subject of their future under this roof.  As long, of course, as they kept cloth on hand to shove into the keyholes…

__________

      “Keep on up the stairs, the both of you.  I’ll bring up something if you have a need, but no loitering about down here.”

Sherlock scowled at Mrs. Hudson and immediately ran to the library, snorting to find it locked and snorting louder to find the keyhole blocked.

      “Ha!  Look at you being evil.  Poor Mr. Holmes having to go to such lengths simply to have a little privacy.”

      “This was done before John and I returned home.”

      “Your point being?”

      “There will be bacon with breakfast or my wrath will be unprecedented.”

      “You’re adorable when you have wind in your sails.  Don’t you think so, Doctor Watson?”

      “He’s got wind, that’s sure enough.  Had to suffer it all the way home after dinner.”

While Mrs. Hudson giggled and Sherlock pouted, John gave his partner in exploring a quick congratulatory thought, since it was a certainty the library door was locked for very merry reasons that would have Greg smiling all day tomorrow.  You wouldn’t know it from their age, but Mycroft and Greg seemed to have an unquenchable appetite for forbidden fun and… it was a hopeful thing.  Maybe they could never speak of it in public and only within these walls could they ever show even the slightest bit of affection, however… they _had_ affection to show and that put them in a very exalted group, in his opinion!  In fact, if this wasn’t the final expedition for one Gregory Lestrade, he’d eat his hat.  There was no chance, none at all, that he’d be away from his Mycroft for another year or two after this trip.

      “I fail to understand why I am subject to such continued abuse.”

Whereas both John and Mrs. Hudson could write a book on that subject, neither felt sufficiently motivated to try.

      “It’s because we love you, lad.  Now, upstairs and ring if you need anything.  I’ll be awake awhile, so don’t worry you’ll disturb me.”

      “Why would I worry about that?”

John began pushing Sherlock towards the stairs and shared a smile with Mrs. Hudson, acknowledging that Sherlock was a highly unique creature and it was going to be the work of a lifetime to build in the necessary social skills without, in turn, compromising that uniqueness.  Fortunately, it seemed that both of them should be in place to see that happen.

      ‘I am not content being brutalized, John.”

      “I’ll remember that for the future.”

Continuing the pushing until Sherlock was sliding along the corridor to his bedroom, John finally stopped and chivalrously opened the door.

      “Here.  You’ve got water in the basin, feel free to wash the brutality off of you.”

      “I am not ready for bed.”

      “Didn’t say you had to sleep, just said… no, I have no idea what I was trying to say, so why don’t you simply make yourself more comfortable and… I don’t know, want to play cards?”

      “Are you serious?”

      “Apparently not.  We still have an early morning ahead of us, so starting an experiment isn’t a wise plan…”

      “We shall read.”

      “Oh… alright.  That’s actually a good idea, though with the library taken…”

      “We will read in your bed.”

      “That… that sounds fine.  I’ve spent a lot of time reading in bed over the years.”

      “I will don my nightshirt and join you when I am prepared.”

Sherlock left John standing in the hallway, which came as no surprise, so John decided that he could either continue to stand there or ‘prepare’ himself, as well.  Actually, after the truly splendid evening they’d had, this was an appropriate way to see it come to a close.  Read an hour or so, then get some much-needed rest.  Tonight was good; it was smart, too.  A little reward for their hard work and some time to simply enjoy themselves before… well, before.  It wouldn’t be forever, but… maybe a simple expedition with Sherlock was a very good next choice for his own travels.  Something to ponder at least, and he’d have a long time to ponder it while he was away…

__________

      “Good, you appear… relaxed.”

John mulled the notion a moment, with all due and dramatic seriousness, before forming the conclusion that yes, yes he was.

      “Got my book, pillows for support, comfortable nightshirt and a warm blanket to ward off any pesky chill on my feet.  I would have to say that I am very relaxed and ready to enjoy it to its fullest.”

      “Your sense of drama is tedious, John.”

Hopefully, his sense of humor wasn’t because nothing was going to stop him laughing at that particular statement, though he would nobly pat the empty side of the bed to declare a truce.

      “And, what are we reading this evening, Mr. Holmes?”

      “A treatise on electromagnetism and its modern applications.”

      “Oh, sounds scintillating.  Much more… intellectual than the novel I’ve got.”

      “Fiction… I fail to find surprise in that.  Lurid?”

      “Extremely.”

      “Again, no surprise.  However, as your silent reading does not intrude upon my thought processes, I shall not offer objection.”

      “Can I add that to the bedtime contract?”

      “You may.”

      “A victory I savor.”

What Sherlock savored was the honestly happy smile on John’s face and that this, sitting propped in bed with a book, was an experience he found worthwhile.  It was certainly not accomplishing any research goals, but… it had its own value that he would not disparage.  However… it _did_ stand squarely in the way of a certain matter he wished to discuss.  Fortunately, John’s ridiculous novel would not vanish into thin air if it had to wait a moment before its pages were further turned.

      “Then… perhaps as a magnanimous gesture from your position as victor…”

When Sherlock adopted a certain expression, John recognized two things.  One, the scientist had something on his mind and, two, that something was not entirely comfortable to discuss.  Time to set a bit of string to mark his place and brace himself for the coming storm.

      “Always prepared to be magnanimous, what is it I might grant?”

      “Information.  Or, rather, confirmation.  Perhaps clarification is the proper term, though.  Ultimately, semantics is not relevant to the question.”

Watch the storm clouds roll across the fields…

      “Why don’t you simply get to the heart of the issue and I suspect the words will sort themselves out on their own.”

      “Yes, you are likely correct.  Very well… Mycroft and Lestrade…”

The storm of the decade!

      “Yes?”

      “The probability is high they are… having sex in the library.  True or false?”

Storm of the century!  This was the sort that lifted a fellow up and dropped him in the sea!

      “I… it is certainly not decent to speculate on things like that.”

      “Decency be hanged.  I simply wish to verify my hypothesis.”

      “A gentleman doesn’t hypothesize about other people’s intimate lives, Sherlock.”

      “And I am not a gentleman, so your point is moot.”

He was right.  That was actually true.

      “Sherlock…”

This was not going to end well, no matter the path he took, so it might as well be the one that would make Sherlock happiest and less prone to… continuing this line of questioning.

      “… if I _had_ to offer a prediction, and it’s a prediction only since I do not and do not wish to know for certain… then yes.  Lock the door and block the keyhole is a possible indicator of… things a couple wouldn’t want others to observe.”

      “Such as sex.”

      “That fits the criteria, yes.”

      “I see… do you… what is the frequency of sexual interactions between members of a romantic pairing?”

      “I don’t know!  It… it varies, I suppose.”

      “A general range will do.”

      “There is none!  Some people… it’s likely a frequent thing and others it’s not.  Everyone is different and there’s no right or wrong when it comes to… that.”

      “I suspect Mycroft and Lestrade engage _frequently_ in sex.  It would explain the rampant smugness I have observed since Lestrade moved into this house.”

      “It… that could be true.  I haven’t asked and I have no intention of asking.  Don’t you ask, either, you miserable busybody.”

      “I am not a busybody!”

      “People who go inquiring into other people’s personal business is, for the record, a busybody.”

      “That is not a proper definition, so it lacks academic merit.”

      “It is as proper as the Queen, so… make do.”

      “I will _not_ make do.  How am I to monitor the success of our sexual behaviors if I do not have the proper standards against which to evaluate the variables!”

John counted to five, mostly because his brain was only fit for simple tasks at the moment, then counted five more as he worked to craft some form of response.  Unfortunately, a ten-count was not sufficiently long for anything of that magnitude.

      “I… what?”

      “If we are to be a couple, which has already been established, then I would assume a duty for each of us would be to see the other satisfied in terms of needs, which, of course, spans a diverse body of factors, one of which is sex.”

If his commanding officers in the Army had been this efficient, England would never have seen a single defeat on the battlefield.

      “Alright… I would agree that it’s important when you have a relationship with someone that each of you work to see the other happy and fulfilled in life.  I further agree that, yes, that spans a diverse body of factors, one of which is sex.  However, I do _not_ agree that this is something to be discussed as if… we were planning a holiday!”

      “Why not?  Proper planning surely contributes to the enjoyment of a holiday, so why doesn’t the same principle apply to sex?”

      “Because… it doesn’t.”

      “That is not an answer.”

      “It _is_ an answer, just not one you like.”

      “The end result is the same.”

      “Sherlock…”

      “I simply want to make you happy, John.  Is that wrong?”

Every bit of discomfort and tension washed right out of John and he sighed softly, reaching over to give Sherlock’s leg a squeeze.

      “No, it’s not wrong.  And I’m sorry for not taking you seriously or not giving you the sort of answers you deserve.  This isn’t something I’m used to talking about, you see, it’s not done really, except… well, not with someone besides Greg or one of my Army mates.  You talk about all sorts of improper things with bastards like that but… not with someone… genteel?  Alright, I realize that’s not the right word for you, but it’s all I have, so… there you are.  I’ll try harder, though, to give you the answers you want.”

Watching Sherlock’s eyes light up was something John thought a marvelous thing and with a smile added in… Sherlock could ask him anything now and he’d trip over his feet racing to answer.

      “Thank you, John.  We will begin with the mechanics of sex between men, then winnow the possibilities to those you find most pleasing.”

Racing the other way!  Racing… no, can’t race!  Have to face this like a man.  A man with a medical degree, thank you very much, and more than a single military commendation to boot.  He could handle this.  Not a problem.  Easy as stirring tea.

      “Well, are we set to begin?  Oh, are you waiting for me to find paper and pencil?  Yes, a very good idea.  Notes will certainly be helpful and you may annotate and diagram as necessary.”

Easy?  Who said this was going to be easy?  Some daft bugger, that’s who.  One who’d need a very stiff drink when this was said and done.  Locked door or not, the whisky was going to be his and damn anyone, regardless of state of undress, who stood in his way.


	32. Chapter 32

As they entered the dining room, Mycroft cleared his throat quietly, perhaps to counter Greg’s rather impudent laughter at Sherlock’s excessively smug expression and tightly crossed arms, all of which screamed Sherlock had something he wanted them to know and, given John’s pained look of ‘just no, please don’t’ made for the makings of a truly eventful breakfast.  One both older men rushed to their chairs to see started.

      “Good morning, Sherlock.  Doctor Watson.  I see you are eager as ever for our morning meal.”

      “John and I had sex.”

Buttering his hand rather than the slice of toast he’d dropped, Lestrade gaped at the scientist while Mycroft pressed _his_ hand to his heart to ensure its continued good behavior.  John simply laid his head on the table and covered it with his arms in, what Greg thought, wasn’t the worst way of dealing with Sherlock’s little life announcements.

      “In general, brother, one does not…”

      “I was somewhat surprised that a discussion of the mechanics of male-male sexuality could engender… urges… but it is a _highly_ successful tool for promoting erotic desires.  Which we satisfied.  Twice.”

Mrs. Hudson’s tiny jig was smartly out of her boys’ line of sight and she made certain to check for evidence of glee as she stepped in to deliver the morning papers to Mycroft, who spotted the glee anyway and gave her an admonishing moue, which was promptly ignored as the housekeeper instead shared a grin with the explorer at the other end of the table before scurrying off to have a proper dance at the news.

      “Mycroft’s got a point, lad.  It’s not polite to boast about how… effective… you are behind the bedroom door, but I’ll say I, without question, predicted that very thing.  Not a bit of doubt that enormous brain of yours would fathom out exactly how to get about the intimate sorts of business and see John properly tended to.  Congratulations.  Job well done.”

Sherlock’s beaming grin couldn’t grow any brighter and Mycroft nodded to his partner to acknowledge the masterful handling of the situation.  And, also to step in when _he_ really needed a few moments to steady his nerves.  Dear Sherlock… apparently he _had_ taken brotherly advice and found himself rewarded for it.  Such growth in the boy… what was needed, seemingly, was the right combination of support in his life and, with this new family they were forming, Sherlock had found that very thing.  If he was to be honest, he had no idea how the Holmes brothers had earned such glad tidings, but edification simply wasn’t necessary in this specific case.  Some things were simply there to be enjoyed.

      “It was to be expected that I would be an exemplary physical partner for John, that is true, but empirical evidence now bears testament to that fact.”

Greg’s ‘that’s very impressive’ nod was accompanied by a second try at buttering toast to show that this was very typical, _highly_ typical, breakfast for a house in London and nothing at all was peculiar about any of it.

      “Of course, brother dear.  And, perhaps, before we bid temporary farewell to Gregory and John, we might all of us enjoy dinner at one of London’s premier establishments, much as Gregory and I did last evening.  Consider it a celebration of the further development of domestic ties under this roof.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, mostly on the principle that if Mycroft was orating it must be objectionable, then stopped when he realized there was nothing particularly objection-worthy about a free dinner.

      “I will see that John is available.”

The John in question had a response to that, unfortunately, it was muffled by his arm cocoon and lost to posterity.

      “Excellent.  Gregory, I assume today will not be that day?”

      “Not likely, I’m afraid.  I’ve got a slew of meetings, then I’ll help the lads with the packing.  Need to inspect what’s going into the various crates since any problems we have now won’t be fixed later, at least, not easily.  And, tomorrow night is that lecture I have to give on planning an expedition!  I have no idea how I’m supposed to make that interesting or exciting, but I have to see it happen.  Can’t have people giving me their time and attention just to be bored!  I’ll bring scads of maps and bits of equipment and the like to show, I suppose.  People like to have things to look at and touch to make the words more real to them.  John!  Gather together a tidy medical kit so I can show the nice people of London what little stands between me and the fever or losing a leg to the beasties that grow in less pleasant bits of water.”

Waking from his coma, John ran his hands through his hair and mourned that there was not yet a large plate of food on the table to help comfort him in his time of need.

      “I can do that.  You should have some drawings or samples of the poisonous plants Sherlock and I have been working on, too, to discuss.  That should create a stir.”

      “Good idea.  I’ll make certain to mention you and Sherlock’s research so the audience knows proper science comes out of our jaunts to the wild, not just rousing tales and very fit thighs.”

      “You might consider showing those as well, my dear.  I sincerely believe you would earn a handy sum from your manly musculature and I know your expedition would be grateful for all the funds it can acquire.”

While Greg smiled proudly, Sherlock and John shared a ‘they are insufferable’ roll of the eyes, but the arrival of breakfast forestalled a dissertation on how older men had no business behaving in such a ridiculous fashion.

      “I’ll keep that in mind.  And I’ll make certain to do take extra exercise while I’m away to make that musculature something especially fine to look upon.  And feel.”

Older men also had no business giggling and it was clear there was only one couple at table who properly appreciated the seriousness of a well-filled plate and bracing cup of tea.

      “I did mean to inquire, my dear, about the availability of communication in the regions you shall be traversing.  My own sources of information are a bit unknowing of the breadth of the situation.”

Lestrade chewed through a large mouthful of eggs and made a ‘one moment’ gesture while he washed it down with the coffee he preferred to start the day.

      “Mail is fairly easy, though, by fairly easy, I mean that every couple of months we might stumble across a decently-sized town where we can leave mail to see transported to a ship bound in this direction.  I’ve found that to be respectably reliable, so we can certainly send letters.  Parcels, even small ones, are costly, but it can be done.”

      “Heartening.  Might I assume, however, that communication to _you_ is not as easily accomplished.”

      “Not at all.  It’s not impossible, but you’d have to know where we would be so as to have something waiting when we arrived.  The RGS will do that, on occasion.  Send information or alerts to a town they know we’ll pass through and we make it a point to visit what passes for the postmaster in every town we visit just in case, as well as post our own correspondence.”

      “Will you have a sufficiently-mapped route for that to be an option for Sherlock and myself?”

Mycroft didn’t have to see Sherlock to know his ears had pricked up like a cat hearing a mouse.

      “Likely so.  I mean… we plan a route, but that only serves as a general guideline because local conditions dictate exactly which direction we take to go places and we do, at times, completely bypass areas that are experiencing some form of trouble, be it from the human or animal population or even the weather, if there’s been a lot of rain and rivers are running too high and fast for crossing.”

      “Understandable.  May I, in any case, have a copy of your plans before you depart?”

      “Of course! I was already intending that very thing.”

      “How solicitous you are, my dear.  Now, the availability of sending a cable?”

John and Lestrade shared a look that deflated Mycroft’s hopes, but did not shatter them entirely.

      “It’s… not as common as one would wish to find an office to send a cable.  That’s mostly for the larger towns and ports, closer to the coast than in country, but more of those have been established than in the past, so…”

      “It is not wise to hold out hope for a telegram to brighten our day.”

      “I can promise to try.  Certainly when we arrive at our final port, I can send something to confirm we found our way with all our limbs intact.  After that… don’t sit waiting, but if it’s possible, I will.  Do expect letters, though it may be a couple of months in between.”

      “Then my expectations are now structured appropriately and I will not weep my way to the grave when a week has passed and I have not before me your stirring words of adventure and declarations of eternal affection.”

      “John and I are trying to eat!  Kindly keep your insipid prose to yourself, Mycroft.”

Thought, it was clear his dear brother had been hanging on every word and setting his own expectations accordingly.

      “Do pardon me, Sherlock.  In the future, I shall see that my prose is of the most inspiring form.”

While Sherlock began his description of why Mycroft could never hope to achieve anything that could adopt the title of ‘inspiring,’ and Mycroft began to ponder how quickly he could add mail routes to African ports and further the construction of telegraph lines, Greg and John simply soaked up the joy that blossomed around the breakfast table.  Yes, their partners in coupledom were highly unique men and, yes, sorting out how their lives would proceed once they returned was going to be most interesting, but… there was nowhere in the world they’d rather be at this moment in time.  And, no, that had nothing to do with the maid carrying in a large portion of the potatoes Cook had learned the two adventurers particularly enjoyed and saw fit to prepare in abundance…

__________

      “Oh, Sherlock… look at your hair…”

It had been a hard few days, but that hard work had bought for them their much hoped-for evening out and if any of the four men thought they would make it out of the door without being duly inspected by their housekeeper, they were sadly mistaken.

      “I cannot look at my hair for it is on my head and my eyes will not provide a view at that specific angle.”

      “Find a mirror and send a comb through those curls!  There!  Doctor Watson has properly combed hair!  But those shoes… I saw those shoes shined properly, young man, and now they look as if you kicked a ball about with some of the newsboys!”

While he was duly tutted and finger-wagged, John admired, not for the first time, the handsome figure Sherlock cut when was forced into fine clothes.  Sherlock’s mum surely must have despaired when she learned of his… tastes… because she would have had a very merry time with all of the marriageable girls who would have been queuing on the property for a chance to vie for Sherlock’s proposal.  Of course, once they talked to the evil git they’d run for the door, but Mrs. Holmes would probably enjoy the extra challenge.

      “Mycroft is fat and disgraces his waistcoat.  Go chastise him and leave John and me alone.”

Lestrade’s slap to the back of his head didn’t straighten Sherlock’s curls, but it did give Mrs. Hudson a hearty laugh and that was nearly as good, in her opinion.

      “Your brother is regal, handsome and puts everyone else in this world to shame with how he commands the room in his not-disgraced waistcoat.  Be civil, Sherlock, or no dinner for you.”

      “Your opinion carries no weight, Lestrade, because you are love-blind and, further, because your taste for everything borders on deplorable.  And, before you offer rebuttal, I shall remind you of the reading material I helped you pack for your journey.  I did not believe it possible for anyone to have a poorer-quality taste for literature than John, but you surely proved me wrong.”

 _John’s_ slap to the back of Sherlock’s head prompted the scientist to jam his hat tightly on to provide some protection from the undeserved abuse.

      “Ah, as ever, our departure is heralded by Sherlock needing to issue apology to all with whom we shall travel.”

      “I am being beaten and shall proffer no apology for my pain!”

      “Of course, brother.  Now, shall we?  This promises to be a stellar evening, I have no doubt and… well, given you depart in three days, it is an excellent opportunity to spend time together and have a model for how such things shall be enjoyed when you return.”

His Mycroft’s voice was light, but Lestrade was highly aware of the growing sadness in his lover’s heart, a sadness that would sit heavily in him until the day of their return.  Yes… yes, it was certainly time to begin reassessing his personal plans for the future.  His own heart was as sick at the thought of leaving as was Mycroft’s and a man could only bear so much heartsickness in his life.  As it stood, there was a very strong possibility he was using his life’s supply for this one trip and… returning to London could mean many changes for Gregory Lestrade, prominent explorer and raconteur.  Tellingly, those changes really didn’t frighten him in the slightest…

__________

      “Absolutely not.”

      “John!”

      “Sherlock… I appreciate, I really do, why you would want us to bring along a phonograph, however, we’re _not_ and that is that.”

      “I demand an explanation for your refusal.”

      “Alright… first, it’s an expensive and delicate piece of equipment and it won’t fare well, either on the ship or during our trek on foot.  And, because we _are_ on foot, carrying that and the cylinders we’d need for it would be a lot of weight for… go to the Zoological Gardens if you want to hear a lion’s roar!”

      “It is not the same as in the wild!  Or… that is part of what I would hope to determine from your recordings.  Besides, I am certain the various linguistic scholars would appreciate samples of local languages and dialects.  I have no doubt the RGS would leap at the chance to foist the native jabbering onto their ears.”

      “It’s not jabbering!  Stop being so bloody arrogant and... you.  While I admit you might have a point about that last bit, it’s still not going to happen, so...”

      “I will speak to the RGS board myself and… I will have _Mycroft_ speak to the RGS board, I mean, and see he purchases sufficient cylinders to meet my research needs.  And the non-jabbering.”

      “No, you won’t!”

      “I most certainly will.”

      “We leave the day after next.  You don’t have time.”

      “For some reason, time happily bends itself to Mycroft’s demands, likely being distorted by his gargantuan bulk when in his vicinity, so I assure you that I do.”

      “I’m telling Greg you said that and… you’ll be sorry.”

      “Was that a threat?”

      “Felt like one, didn’t it?”

      “I… I have no idea how to respond.”

      “Kiss?”

      “Oh, that solves the problem nicely.”

__________

      “Mycroft, that’s not necessary.”

      “I disagree.”

      “Making me an agent of the British government isn’t going to get me out of trouble, not that I plan on finding any.”

      “Trouble, however, may find _you_ and any official status you might carry could sway local authorities towards your side of the line.”

      “Mycroft…”

      “Consider the resources!  You would be empowered to…”

      “Yes?”

      “Do things.”

      “That was the most brilliant thing you’ve ever said.”

      “I… I have no firm idea about the situations in which you will find yourself, however, I have learned that an official status can often open doors that would normally remain closed and secure assistances that would not otherwise be offered.”

Lestrade contemplated continuing the argument, but conceded that Mycroft could have a point, and, more importantly, his lover would feel better if he felt he was being helpful which, given they left tomorrow, was the least he could offer the man he loved.

      “Alright, but if you need a document or something to prove that, then you’ll need to… oh, you have one already.”

      “I took the liberty of having this prepared.”

      “It certainly looks official and… consequential.”

      “Appearances, my dear.  Much in life depends on appearances.”

      “Sort of like me?”

      “Your appearance is certainly a consequential one and it does complement very well the impression you endeavor to make on the public.”

      “That I’m like one of those small dogs in a dress that they put on stage to do a little dance?”

      “It is truly intriguing how often we are of like mind.”

      “Uncanny, really.  Just uncanny.”

__________

Dinner that night was not the jubilant affair of previous meals they’d shared, but there was no surprise in that fact, given that, barring breakfast, it was the last meal they would share for a very long time.

      “A toast?  To good fortune, health and a swift return of those who venture far and wide.”

Lestrade smiled at his lover and raised his own wine glass, swallowing the stab of pain from the ache he heard in every syllable of Mycroft’s toast.  They’d stolen every possible minute together these last few days and slept far, far less than was smart, but… it was worth every yawn to have those moments with this glorious man.  Tomorrow would see him and John leaving early, but they would have company to the ship and… it was foolish to think about seeing Sherlock and Mycroft waiting there again when they returned, but that was a mental image he was going to carry firmly in his mind until it became his reality.

      “Thank you, love.  And, might I offer one as well?  To devotion, courage and a swift return to those who wait for us.”

Wishing the explorer was close enough to clasp hands, Mycroft simply nodded and took another sip of his wine.  Everything in his life had tempered him to withstand the most enormous of pressures, but… this was one near to crippling him.  It was only his Gregory’s strength and clear commitment to their love that enabled him to keep his head high and his mind clear.  They would endure; that was a truth of the most profound sanctity and was now a guiding principle of his life.

      “If there are to be any further of your ridiculous toasts, might I remind you that excessive drink will not ease your waking in the morning and I, for one, will not risk being turned to stone by the sight of your entwined bodies because you require a strong shaking to move your alcohol-insulted persons from your bed.”

      “Thank you, brother dear, and no, we have reached the end of the line of toasts to be delivered, unless you or John wishes to add one to our extensive list of two.”

John simply waved his fork in the air, then ate the piece of lamb off of it before giving it another wave for emphasis.

      “We are not participating in your nonsensical ritual.”

      “Very well, then.  I… might I assume that we shall all go our relative separate ways after dinner?”

Each member of the two couples shared a quick smile and three nodding heads served as Mycroft’s answer.

      “Then let us enjoy this lovely meal with the rapidity it certainly does not merit and consider the evening, at that point, best described as private.”

That both Sherlock and Lestrade fished for keyhole-blocking handkerchiefs in their pockets confirmed that that privacy would certainly be necessary and that if any sleep was found that night, it would only be by the thwarted housekeeper who would likely buy a hand drill and begin making her own paths of incursion while half the house was away from her watchful eye.  Perhaps, Mycroft thought, finding Mrs. Hudson a romantic interest of her own would be a worthwhile venture.  He _was_ still in need of a butler… it might be time to consider auditioning suitable candidates for which dear Mrs. Hudson would have final approval, as well as the bedroom next to his in the house…

__________

The mood the following morning was a very strange mix of excitement and dread, which made for highly stilted and halting conversation that was fortunately brought to a halt by the arrival of the cabs for which Mycroft had messengered, including an extra for Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Turner who were given the privilege of seeing the explorers off, something which they would certainly be able to lord over the other ladies on the street.  And, if necessary, the other cab riders could catch a few minutes of sleep to compensate for the highly non-restful night they had spent.  Mycroft and Sherlock now had some raised curiosity as to how much semen a male could produce in a day, as given the early start to the couples’ personal entertainment, it seemed the answer was quite a lot.

When the cabs finally reached dockside, it was a slow descent onto the ground since it was slamming home with painful force that… this was it.  There was no more time, no more opportunities, no more words.  This was the last time they would touch or hear the voice of the person they had brought into their lives.  It was the hardest departure Greg or John had ever experienced and… all they could do was focus on the future to when this would be repeated, but it would be the first touch, first laugh and first words with their Holmes instead.  And, of course, all must be handled in the perfectly proper manner of men who were simply bosom companions and nothing more.

      “Well, Mycroft… this is it, I’m afraid.”

      “It is… it appears to be a worthy vessel.”

      “It does.  Smaller than we usually use, but beggars can’t be choosers.  She’s fast, too, supposedly, so that’s a blessing.”

      “The Endymion.  A… well, not quite the name I would have suspected, but it is, I suppose, melodious to the ear.’

      “I think the ship owner’s wife is Greek, so it’s in her honor.  Though why he couldn’t just have named it after his wife… I don’t know.  People are odd, at times.”

Realizing this was the most banal example of conversation ever spoken and certainly not a fair tribute to his lover, Lestrade made the viciously-hard decision to speed things along, then took a deep breath and extended his hand for Mycroft to shake.

      “Farewell, Mr. Holmes.  Thank you… thank you for everything and I am very much looking forward to making your acquaintance again when we return.”

Hating that this was the only goodbye he could give his beloved, Mycroft took in the milling of the crowd around them and simply shook Lestrade’s hand in return, rather than give him the crushing hug he so desperately wanted to bestow.

      “And I thank you, Mr. Lestrade, for your scintillating company and I am certain I shall be happily regaled by your various stories upon your return to London.”

Nodding and coughing to give himself a moment to blink away the moisture that was forming in his eyes, Lestrade reached into his jacket and pulled out the small flask that had been their dearest friend during the train trip to the country manor.

      “I’d appreciate it, kind sir, if you would look after this for me.  It means too much to me to see it lost while I’m away and it would be a great favor if it could find shelter in your home for the duration.”

Taking the flask with a lightly trembling hand, Mycroft simply smiled a weak smile and nodded his agreement, since he had absolutely no faith in his voice at the moment.

      “Thanks.  So… it looks like they’ve taken the last of my luggage so… until I return, Mr. Holmes.”

      “H… have a safe trip, Mr. Lestrade.”

Turing quickly away from his lover, Lestrade stopped to share a few words with the ladies and give each a firm hug before ruffling Sherlock’s curls, whispering ‘take care of your brother’ in his ear and marching towards the ship and up the gangplank, never looking back for fear of throwing caution to the wind and racing back to do something dangerously rash.

      “Looks like Greg is setting a quick pace, Sherlock… I suppose I’d best join him.”

John knew that when he was emotional he was very successful at hiding that fact on his face, but he also knew that the man looking at him right now saw through him as if he were a piece of glass.  And, this one time, Sherlock Holmes was just as transparent.

      “Yes, it would not do for the ship to sail and Mycroft have to hire a boat to chase after your wayward transportation.”

      “That _would_ be rather rude of me wouldn’t it.  Alright, then… goodbye, Sherlock.  It has been a pleasure working with you and I hope to do so again when we return.”

John extended his hand and waggled it a few times to get Sherlock to reach out and give it a shake.

      “You have been an acceptable research partner, John, so I anticipate we will make great strides with the new samples you bring back with you.”

Now, John had to tug slightly to get his hand back from Sherlock’s death grip and nodded as confidently as he could to the tall scientist before letting his mask slip a second to favor Sherlock with a slightly-watery smile.  Then it was his own farewells to Mrs. Hudson and Mrs. Turner and a goodbye to Mycroft, who received his own ‘please look after Sherlock’ in his ear before the doctor copied Greg’s retreat and hoped he never had to feel this abandoning ever again in his life.

The silent debate over whether to stay and watch the ship leave the dock ended with Mycroft’s fake smile at the ladies and a gallant escort to their cab, after which he alighted his own and, after a moment, was joined by Sherlock who, somewhat surprisingly, chose to make the return ride with his brother.

      “So it begins, dear brother.”

      “John says he may have a berth of his own on this voyage, rather than the usual sharing he must do with Lestrade.  That speaks well for the condition of his mental health upon his return.”

      “Which shall occur before we know it.”

      “It could be two years.  John does not believe they will be away that long, but… there is a remote possibility that cannot be discounted.”

      “Which, still, shall occur before we know it.  There shall be letters, perhaps a telegram or two… consider landmarks of time, if you will.  No more than two Christmases, say.  Or, even one.  Find marks to use as guideposts and I have no doubt the time shall move steadily and swiftly.”

      “Do you truly believe that.”

      “Of course I do, Sherlock.  I have no other choice.”

__________

No, he would not look again at the map he’d had framed and mounted on his study wall.  The large map focusing on the Mediterranean region and Africa.  The map on which he could estimate the position of Gregory’s ship and linger awhile imagining the sights his lover would see should the ship make port at this location or that.  Gregory was such a _vibrant_ man.  Such a lover of experience and discovery.  This truly was the work for which he was born and what a joy it would be to hear tales of his escapades when he was again in residence in their home.  They had been away two weeks now and… that was two weeks closer to that goal, which was something to celebrate.  In fact, that had become his nightly ritual… celebrating the passing of another day with a few moments of memory dedicated to the man who would again lie next to him in the bed they now shared.

      “I… Mr. Holmes?”

Mycroft looked up from his desk, startled slightly by the curious tone in Mrs. Hudson’s voice, then rose quickly seeing his brother standing with her, seemingly held upright by the housekeeper’s firm grip.

      “Sherlock?  What… what is wrong.”

As an answer, Sherlock held up the afternoon newspaper, then offered no protest as Mrs. Hudson coaxed him to a chair to have a seat.  Feeling a cold wind blow through him, Mycroft read the headline and didn’t notice the paper falling from his grasp or his brother beginning to speak.

      “The article… it was an experimental design, you see, a new modification of existing steamship technology.  It… something happened to the engine or boiler or… a survivor walked three days to the nearest village to report what he believed an explosion and… the ship was going down somewhat quickly, but he was able to dive off and swim away to make shore, though it was a… it was a long and difficult swim, even for someone… he heard the noise and jumped, you see, so he was in good health and…”

      “Gr… Gregory and John?”

      “That is the only person reported alive.  At least at this time.”

      “I see.”

Now, Mrs. Hudson was moving quickly to steady the other Holmes brother, who had turned bone white and seemed to lose awareness of the world around him.

      “Have a seat, Mr. Holmes.  And… don’t you worry.  If there are two people more capable and cunning than Mr. Lestrade and Doctor Watson, then I have no idea who they could be.  Just wait and see… you’ll get word that everything is fine and maybe they’re even on their way back to London because… their things are at the bottom of the ocean!  Just wait and see, they won’t disappoint us.  Not those two… too much love in their hearts to do that.  Far, far too much love to not come home again…”

They had to come home, they simply had to.  There was no other choice.  What would happen to her Sherlock and Mycroft if they didn’t was something she couldn’t bear to imagine…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you know where to find me for slings and arrows... you can hunt me down on tumblr and twitter, too, (eventhorizon451) if your sack of rocks and quiver is especially full...


	33. Chapter 33

Mrs. Hudson spent the next several minutes alternating between checking on Sherlock and, then, on Mycroft, neither of whom seemed to be capable of continuing their basic bodily functions, let alone thinking, but slowly some alertness came into Sherlock’s eyes and he celebrated it by launching himself towards Mycroft’s desk behind which Mrs. Hudson had brought Mycroft to weather his collapse.

      “Do something!”

      “What… what would you have me do, Sherlock?”

      “Something!  Anything!”

      “If you might elucidate the nature of the ‘thing’ at the root of your demand, I would be most grateful.”

Sherlock’s arm swept through the papers on Mycroft’s desk, littering the room with documents and scaring the wits out of their housekeeper.

      “John and Lestrade might be dead and you sit there doing nothing!”

      “No action of mine will change anything.”

Which was brutalizing Mycroft worse than anything else in his existence. He wielded incalculable amounts of power and influence, but none of it, not a single bit could turn back the clock to prevent this atrocity.  Nothing… there was _nothing_ he could do…

      “You… give commands!”

      “TO DO WHAT!  What, Sherlock?  Tell me!  Tell me what to command that will unsink a ship.  Tell me what to order to turn back the hands of time.  Tell me what I can do to erase this and return them to us.  Tell me and I will move heaven and Earth to see it done.”

Sherlock’s dark scowl threatened to unleash every demon ever recorded into the room, but he found he couldn’t push through his clenched teeth a single suggestion.  The deed was done, done days ago and…

      “News.  Demand what news there is and… dispatch messages!  Surely you have eyes and ears nearby who can seek out what is known.”

Which, precisely, was what Mycroft feared most.  Now, there was hope.  That, however, could quickly and tragically change.  But… looking into his brother’s eyes, so utterly distraught and despairing, he knew his own cowardice could not hold sway and, for better or worse, they must know everything.

      “Very well.  Collect my hat and coat.  Yours, as well.”

      “Why?”

      “We are going to my office.”

      “Your… you haven’t been there in years!”

      “And now we will see that changed.”

Watching his brother bolt off like his trousers were on fire, Mycroft struggled to ease the agony in his heart, but spared enough energy to both notice and bemoan the lost and fearful expression on his housekeeper’s face.

      “Mrs. Hudson… I will inform you of everything we learn.”

Compassion and comfort was entirely out of his area, but Mycroft took a breath, rose from his chair and gently hugged his housekeeper, class separation be hanged, and felt some of his own comfort from the hug she returned in earnest.  Luckily, Sherlock was quick to return because Mycroft had utterly no idea how to proceed once the hugging was completed.

      “Thank you, brother.  I do not know when we shall return, Mrs. Hudson, however…”

      “You go and learn what you can, Mr. Holmes.  At least… at least we’ll know the story, whole and full, if nothing else.”

Nodding slightly, Mycroft strode towards the door at a pace that startled Sherlock, who dashed after him, though not a word was exchanged between them while hailing a cab, during the ride or when they descended in front of the rather unassuming building that morphed into something quite different once you passed the first set of modest rooms on the inside and through the second large set of doors that revealed the true scope of the building’s importance.  Newer staff stared at the large man striding imperiously through, though none were sufficiently confident to ask his business, but older members of the ranks startled like rabbits seeing a fox and the word spread like fire through the building that Mr. Holmes was actually on premises.  Thus began the great pushing-and-shoving war amongst the assembled to hurl a victim in the path of the British Government, Mycroft’s on-paper secretary finally losing the contest due to a well-placed combination of kick to the shins and boot to the bum that had him stumbling from his hiding place and into the corridor.

      “Oh… Mr. Holmes… it is good to see you, sir?”

      “That remains to be decided.”

      “Of course, sir!  Of course… and what might we be deciding today?”

      “I demand all information on the steamship Endymion which went down… where is a map?  Map!”

Given Mr. Holmes seemed to know the tall madman shouting at him, it might be unwise to call the constables to have the individual dragged away in chains…

      “Mr. Holmes?  If you might clarify?”

      “My brother’s rudeness notwithstanding, that _is_ our task for the day.  Assemble whom you require and provide me with every piece of information on said situation.  I will also require a number of telegrams be sent so prepare to script the messages.  I shall be at my desk and will have all reports delivered there as soon as they become available.”

Continuing on without another word, Mycroft kept the glower on his face until he was in his office when he allowed it to slip a bit as he removed his topcoat and hat.  Perhaps it was good to be away from his home at this particular time, as this was certainly not the place where any evidence of his emotions could be shown and that would be a powerful factor in keeping his mind and soul in check.

      “Well?”

      “Well what, Sherlock?”

      “Information!”

His poor brother… the boy was poised to learn an ugly truth about the great governmental machine about which he screeched and pouted without end.

      “Were this matter situated in London, we would know the truth of it quickly.  Minutes to hours only for the full portrait to be painted.  This is not what we face.  I cannot dispatch a messenger with a note to demand firsthand accounts or have individuals brought to me for direct questioning.  I can, and will, however, dispatch messages to the newspapers and have my subordinates descend on their offices to collect every scrap of information, verified or not, they have accumulated to date.  I shall send telegrams to what resources I maintain in the region where… where the _incident_ occurred, but they are not precisely on site and it would take them time to provide the information we require.  As it stands, a telegram sent today would likely have to be held for collection or, at best, carried by messenger to the recipient who may be… otherwise engaged.”

      “That could take days!”

      “Easily.  I know you believe that, in some manner, I can but wave a hand and from all directions information flows towards me like water, but that is certainly not the case.  Why do you think I support and encourage many of your brethren in the scientific community?  Certainly not for altruistic reasons, but for the benefit they could provide from their ideas and inventions.  It is only through my talents and abilities that the poor supply and quality of information often provided us is able to be acted upon at all.  To place in context, predict, evaluate… you have no idea, brother, and that is right and proper as it is not your responsibility to worry about such things, but… you see now the truth in its most naked and vulnerable form.  I will do what I can, Sherlock, you know that I will but… do not imagine I can do the impossible, for it shall gain you nothing but disappointment.”

Sherlock hurled himself onto the small sofa in Mycroft’s office and sulked with a force that could be felt by the secretary when he stepped into the room to record the telegram messages Mycroft wanted sent.  Between that and his employer’s exceedingly serious visage, it was clear this was going to be both a long and difficult day.  Fortunately, given the number of bodies that had raced their way hoping to gain a glimpse of the legendary Mycroft Holmes, there were hands aplenty to handle whatever Mr. Holmes had in store for them.  At this point, he would say, what was in store was a very, very lot…

__________

And now the weight of the waiting started to grow large while the tempers grew short… ah, what a familiar thing that was.  If another of his books was hurled across the room, it would likely be impossible for a messenger to bring news to them, given the mountain of printed paper standing in his way. 

      “Go home, Sherlock.  I shall give you funds for a cab if necessary, but… you will be more comfortable at home.”

      “No.”

      “I assure you that your presence will not speed the delivery of information in any appreciable way.’

      “Regardless, no.”

      “Have you not an experiment that requires your attention?”

Biting his tongue when a sharp surge of upset crossed his brother’s face, Mycroft sighed and reminded himself to take greater care with his words.

      “I apologize, Sherlock.  I did not mean to highlight John’s absence.”

      “I care not.”

      “No, I can see clearly that you do not, however, minding my manners is something I strive to practice when the opportunity arises.”

Sherlock waved off his brother’s nonsense, but wanted, instead, to throttle every neck in the accursed building!  This was intolerable!  Everything moved at a glacially-slow pace… there was little question now why his brother functioned as king of this legion of snails!  Even the dispatches to the newspapers were slow and they paid poor return on the investment.  No one appeared to have _any_ immediate information, though Mycroft sent additional subordinates to find and interview various reporters who had their own sources within shipping companies and other businesses who might have knowledge they had yet revealed to their editors.  It was absolutely maddening and… Mycroft was correct.  No matter what they learned, it would be a look into the past, not the present.  And, more upsetting to admit, there was no help to immediately deliver even if they could see plain the situation through some form of witchcraft.

At the sound of the door opening, Sherlock scowled thunderously, mostly on principle, and was somewhat surprised to see the room begin to fill with men, some of whom he recognized from his visits to the RGS.

      “Ah, gentlemen.  Sherlock… I have no doubt you wish to stay, however, I also know that you will not easily tolerate the length of this particular meeting.  I would ask, as a personal favor, that you take this time to occupy yourself in another fashion.  Perhaps… ah, yes.  Would you take this time to return home and reassure Mrs. Hudson that our inquiries are ongoing?  I have no doubt she is terribly worried and would appreciate even the smallest assurance that our every effort is turned towards this problem.”

Sherlock readied his objection, then read in his brother’s demeanor two things.  First, this meeting _was_ certain to infuriate him, likely from the humdrum dronings of the aged wheezers currently finding seats in the large office and, second, Mycroft was genuinely concerned about Mrs. Hudson and her state of being.  Was there anything more irritating than his brother making valid points?  No, no there was not.

      “Very well.  But, I will return as soon as I have completed my comforting.”

      “I expect no less.”

Storming out of the office, leaving behind hat and coat, Sherlock continued his storm out of the building and along the street until he could hail a cab.  John would receive the sternest of lectures when he returned to London.  Absolutely scathing.  The words that would fly would cleave in twain the mightiest of oaks with their cutting condemnation.  This was. unquestionably, the very end of the discussion.  If John believed he would go again on expedition without Sherlock Homes at his side, then he would soon learn a lesson he would not forget.  No, this was the _last_ of gallivanting off without him.  And if John thought differently, he was sadly, sadly mistaken…

__________

      “Sherlock, you were gone for quite some time.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and read his brother’s face, not particularly liking the story it told.

      “You have news.”

Sighing heavily, Mycroft took a moment to rub his neck and squawked when a box of sweets landed on his desk in front of him.

      “Mrs. Hudson demanded I deliver that to you and, further, that I ensure you do not wither to a twig from worry, so… remember to eat.  She _will_ inquire so either concoct a convincing lie or have one of your menials obtain something hearty to fuel your paper shuffling.”

Given Sherlock seemed somewhat calmer than before, his time with Mrs. Hudson had done the boy a world of good.  And, likely, gave their housekeeper her own measure of calm in return.

      “Thank you for this, Sherlock, and I will send for an early dinner in a moment.  But… Mrs. Hudson?”

      “She is somewhat less distressed than when we left, wholly due to my successful efforts at providing succor in her time of need.”

Feeling the first smile of the day grace his lips, Mycroft opened his box and drew out a particularly succulent chocolate.

      “Indubitably.  And, for that I also thank you.”

      “I prefer you show your gratitude with information.”

Slowly savoring his small morsel of pleasure, Mycroft wished he had more and better news to tell his brother, but what he possessed he would share in full.  Sherlock deserved that much, at the very least.

      “Very well.  The newspapers’ account of the ship was correct.  The boiler-engine design was highly experimental and had not been tested with a ship of full size.  It was the reason the owner and other investors offered the RGS expedition free passage in exchange for copious publicity.”

      “They envisioned the success of their endeavor being widely reported with the lectures and news articles associated with Lestrade’s and John’s travels.”

      “Precisely.  And that publicity would earn them commissions for fitting their successful model on other ships, a very lucrative thing indeed.”

      “They gambled with the lives of the passengers for money.”

Sherlock’s anger escalated quickly and Mycroft simply waited for his brother to pace away the most burning of the rage.

      “What did you do about it?”

      “Set in motion certain things that will ensure they do not have that opportunity again.”

      “They should hang!”

      “And, if it can be proved that the fault lay in their design and its lack of proper testing, I do put that possibility out of range.  However, at this point, I do feel it unlikely, though the rather forceful restriction of their avenues of income development should provide a suitable chastisement in the interim while the situation develops.”

      “And, is that it?  Is that all you have learned?  That greed and buffoonery have stolen from us… is that all you have learned?”

      “No, though it will also fail to gladden your heart.  The area in which the ship went down is most distant from any settlement so survivors would have to do much the same as the individual providing the original published report… make their way and hope they found some form of civilization.  That being said, when the first cables arrived at the offices of the shipping line, they were shared with the RGS, who notified the newspapers, and our Foreign Office.  Those notifications set in motion certain actions towards locating survivors and directing individuals to the area to learn more about the matter.”

      “What have _they_ learned, then?”

      “Nothing appreciable as of yet, I’m afraid.  Again, we are foiled by the lack of instantaneous communication, but the situation was _not_ left unattended once it was discovered.”

      “Why were _you_ not immediately informed?”

      “Because, if we are to strip from ourselves the connection that makes this of critical interest…”

      “It would not be worth your time.”

      “Incorrect.  The information would be included in the daily government mail pouch, presented as a neat summary of known facts with numerous other items that lack high impact on governmental affairs, but bear noticing nonetheless.  In all likelihood, I would have received this tomorrow as the newspapers and our Foreign Office only received the contents of the telegrams last evening.”

      “And in the meantime, John and Lestrade… “

Sherlock kicked at Mycroft’s desk and the elder Holmes chose not to comment on his brother’s sharp bark of pain or the dancing about the office while the sting of contact with the very heavy desk abated.

      “I do not know their fate at this time, Sherlock.  I have reviewed the current strategies for locating survivors and have found them sound with the addition of mobilizing a small Army unit roughly one hundred and twenty miles north of the location of the incident.  That particular unit was not commonly known to be present, but their mission is not highly confidential, so greater awareness posed no overriding problem.”

      “Damn your foolish government… tomfoolery!  Nothing is more important than John!”

      “John would be the first to argue that point if my actions put his army brethren in any form of danger.”

      “Pfft.  It is a moot point since he is not here to enter the debate.”

      “True and it is not relevant here, in any case.”

      “So… what now do we do?”

      “Nothing.”

      “WRONG!”

      “I would give another answer if I could, Sherlock, however… until more information arrives, there is nothing _to_ be done.  We may stay here, if you like, or return home where you might find something to fill your time while we await news.  I have alerted all concerned parties that I am to be informed immediately of any word on the situation, regardless of how unimportant it may seem.  The messengers come here or they find me at home… there, ultimately, is no difference.”

Sherlock wished, wished desperately that he could not see, lying beneath his brother’s calm and collected façade, a crippling worry and fear that was being held in check only by Mycroft’s nearly inhuman will.  It would make it far easier to lash out, to scream, shout, blame… but as much as he desired a target for his vitriol, that target could not be his brother.

      “Then we will return home.  The waft of fumbling government incompetence is stinging my nasal epithelium.”

Nodding his agreement, Mycroft thought a moment, then made a few notes, gathered a selection of documents, then rang for his secretary who received a flurry of instructions, notes and empowerments before Mycroft donned his coat and hat and motioned for Sherlock to follow him out of the office.  In truth, it was his own preference to return home because… home was as near to Gregory as he could now be and that small thread of connection was as important to him as air or water.  He needed to smell their library, hold the flask he guarded, touch the pillow where his love’s head had last lain.  It was silly, perhaps, believing in an almost magical, talismanic power to such things, but, for once, he had no issue believing in magic.  Right now, it was near the only hope his beloved had of returning…

__________

Every member of the household staff agreed that approaching the younger Mr. Holmes right now risked being flayed alive and approaching the elder Mr. Holmes risked… having to repeat yourself countless times before he acknowledged your presence.  Sherlock was a feral animal seeking to bite at any who crossed his path and Mycroft was adrift, lost in a sea of his own thoughts that not even his brother could easily navigate.

Not that Sherlock wasn’t trying, because even he was disturbed at how lifeless his brother had become.  Beyond Mycroft’s work, which was perfunctorily managed, the only signs of vitality arose when some scrap of information about Lestrade and John arrived, a vitality that quickly extinguished when the news, as it seemed ever to be, was poor.  Four additional survivors had been located, but none knew the fate of their partners and the story they told of the ship’s final minutes was an ugly one.  All agreed on hearing an explosion, then feeling the ship rock sharply, which sent some directly into the water and left others to attempt abandoning ship in a safer manner, which was not easily available, especially since the ship went down quickly… far too quickly for many to escape if they were not immediately on deck or near enough to make a mad dash that way and to the arguable safety of the open water.

As days passed with no encouraging word, Sherlock’s own savage energy began to ebb and he took to simply reading in Mycroft’s study, the library or wherever else his brother might be found, though they never shared a word beyond the briefest of questions and answers about matters of little importance.  And that was how Mrs. Hudson found them when she stepped without knocking into Mycroft’s study, carrying a telegram in her hand.

      “I… this is for you, lad.”

Seeing the paper to Sherlock, Mycroft turned his full attention to his brother and found himself utterly baffled by the wide swing of emotions on his brother’s face.

      “Sherlock, what does it say?  Is it… do you have word of John and Gregory?”

Sherlock swallowed the heavy mass of emotion in his throat and licked his lips several times as he desperately tried to find the right words to answer his brother, deciding, finally, to simply hand the telegram to Mycroft and let him make of it what he chose.

      “It… it is from John.”

Mycroft’s shocked gasp sounded too loud in Sherlock’s ears and he shared a look with Mrs. Hudson that had the housekeeper reaching out to clasp his shoulder in preparation for Mycroft’s response.

_Survived disaster.  Searching for others.  No news of Greg.  Leaving in two days for London._

Mycroft read and re-read the telegram, willing with all his might to rearrange the words into something… better.  Given that did not happen, he could do the only thing possible, be grateful for John’s good fortune and his return to Sherlock’s life.  And it was not, in the least, a deception.  He was _profoundly_ grateful and terribly relieved for his brother… he simply wished that some of that had been bestowed upon him and his Gregory. 

      “John is alive, brother.  I am… I am very happy for you.”

Sherlock wished he never again heard the brittle tone of his brother’s voice, but… John _was_ alive.  It was shameful to be… exultant!.. when his brother was fading inside, but… John was alive.  And returning home.  John was coming home and…

      “Oh dear!”

Mrs. Hudson quickly grabbed Sherlock as his knees went weak and somehow managed to steer his collapse towards the sofa where he sat heavily and began breathing though his hands as if he was trying to contain a shout that was trying to claw its way out of his mouth.

      “This is… excellent news, Sherlock.  Truly, dear brother, I am overjoyed for you.  I could not be happier for your good fortune.”

And that, still, was the most perfect of truths.  Sherlock deserved this, deserved the grace of the Fates and have delivered back to him the man he held dear.  That was certainly the case and he would not, not even with his own life crumbling, deny that simple fact.

      “Your brother’s right, Sherlock, this is… you and I are going to march to the kitchen and have a little celebration.  We can talk about what to do to welcome Doctor Watson back, too, won’t that be a treat?”

Looking towards Mycroft, who’s weak smile was real, but hard to maintain, Mrs. Hudson took a deep breath and committed herself to making certain her oldest lad had every bit of support he needed while… he waited.

      “And he didn’t say our Mr. Lestrade was lost to us, did he?  Just said he didn’t know yet. A lot can happen in two days, a very, very lot.  Or even after that!  They don’t have to return together just because they left that way!  Just you watch, both of you, we’ll have our house reunited and… it’s going to be grand.  Just as grand as it was before all of this happened.  You listen to someone who knows… good things happen sometimes and this… this _is_ good things.  I feel it in my bones.”

Giving a firm nod to cement her point, the housekeeper urged Sherlock up off of the sofa and shot a quick glance to Mycroft, realizing that he had drifted off some time ago and likely hadn’t heard a word she said.  That was alright, though.  There was plenty of time to repeat it.  Over and over, as often as he needed it.  Doctor Watson would bring good news or a living, breathing explorer with him to toss into Mr. Holmes’s arms.  That was the way it was going to be and hell take them all if it didn’t…

__________

The household quickly returned to a semblance of order now that Sherlock was not rampaging through, terrorizing everyone he saw, but no one was fooled into thinking anything was back fully to normal.  Mycroft continued to move through the house as if he were a ghost, pausing frequently to open the door of the conservatory to look inside and, now and again, walking through it to touch the plants that the staff meticulously maintained, before leaving with a wistful, almost hopeful look as if the brief visit was to make an offering at his Gregory’s shrine to ensure his safe return.  For the nearly three weeks since John’s telegram, there had been no further word of importance on the ship or survivors and nothing, also, from John, but as the days ticked by, the staff began to privately discuss what would happen to the household given the possibilities that existed – Doctor Watson returns alone or Doctor Watson returns with Mr. Lestrade.  For either, there was immeasurable benefit in being prepared.

When, finally, Mrs. Hudson’s excited shriek shook the foundation of the house, Sherlock and Mycroft raced from the library and came to a screeching halt seeing John standing in the entrance, a small sack next to him on the floor and too-large clothes covering his frame.

      “Yeah, I know… had to borrow what I could, but not a flea or other pest to be found so…”

Tears rising in his eyes, John raised his arms and caught the tall scientist who threw himself across the space to embrace his lover with all his might.

      “Never again, John.  Do not do this to me again…”

      “I won’t Sherlock.  I promise you I will never leave you like that again.”

Mrs. Hudson wiped her eyes then shooed away all the other eyes peeking in on the happy scene, starting off herself to order a hearty meal and a good cup of proper tea for doctor, stopping to squeeze Mycroft’s hand for strength before leaving the men alone to… talk.

      “I am delighted to see you, John.  It is… we were extremely worried, as you might imagine.”

The unhidden hope in Mycroft’s tone cut through Sherlock and John’s cocoon of relief and joy, prompting John to back slightly away from Sherlock so he could face Mycroft for the next part of the reunion.

      “Thank you.  It was… well, I can honestly say I’ve never been that terrified.”

      “Can you… we have only the slightest detail of what happened…”

Hating the wretched combination of hope and worry in Mycroft’s voice, John drew himself fully upright and smiled gently as Sherlock moved behind him to put arms around his shoulders and chest as if Sherlock was afraid he’d be stolen away.

      “Everything was fine, perfectly fine, and there wasn’t a bit of warning before… it was just that suddenly, there was the loudest sound imaginable and the ship felt like it had given a punch from the inside out.  I was just below decks and ran up to see if I could… _see_ anything and when I felt the ship lurch sharply I knew it was sinking.  I tried to help others get over the rail and into the water until… I finally had to jump.  It was… there was a lot going on and people were yelling… I wasn’t certain which way even to begin swimming!  Or even whether to start swimming because… you could hear yelling, screaming sometimes of the people still on the ship or who’d gotten hurt trying to get off before it sank too far.  I… I paddled about, but things started floating out and it got in the way and…”

      “Shhhh… do not distress yourself, John.”

Sherlock arms tightened around his lover but he knew with a sickening certainty, that John would continue to the end, regardless of the tale he had to tell.

      “I’m alright… somewhat alright… there’ve been nightmares, but… it’s to be expected, right?  Anyway… I realized that if I didn’t try to find land I stood no chance at all of surviving.  I saw some of the lads starting in one direction and decided that was as good a choice as any.  I was lucky, too, that I was near a few barrels that must have been emptied during the voyage and one had a bit of rope around it.  I could loop my arm trough and use it as a float when I tired.  I… I’m not certain how long I was in the water, actually, beyond it seemed like an eternity, but I finally saw land and… well, that was a true and proper blessing.  One of the crew wasn’t too far from me and we decided to stay together to try and find a village or other survivors.  Took us… I think it was five days but it could have been more.  I lost track, which is odd since this is what I’m good at!   Was good at…”

      “John…”

There was no avoiding Mycroft’s tone now, though John would give everything he had to race away and not have to continue on.

      “A boiler exploded.  That’s what sank the ship.  Greg… there was a regular game of cards the engineers played with some of the crew and Greg liked to join in.  They played in the room next to the boilers… Greg had gone that way not ten minutes before the explosion.  I’m sorry, Mycroft, but there’s no real chance he survived.  If the explosion didn’t… he was far down in the ship and as fast as it sank… I don’t see how he could have made it out.  I am so, so sorry, Mycroft.  I looked, though… I looked and asked, but… nobody that was in that area was ever found or even seen in the water after the ship went down.”

Sherlock’s quiet sniffling had John reaching up to clutch the scientist’s arms, as much to comfort his lover as to provide support for himself since he’d never seen a man die and remain alive at the same time before.  He’d watched, with each word, the life drain from Mycroft’s body and it was a sight that would haunt him the rest of his days.

      “I see.  Thank you, John, for your thorough report.  I will see it added to the official records.”

Taking a step forward, John was pulled back by Sherlock who truly _was_ terrified to let the doctor go, but who also knew that Mycroft would appreciate no contact at this point.  Not a touch or a sympathetic word.  His brother was busily processing what was his own destruction and reconfiguring his mind to act without the need for the half-man that provided the flesh and blood that supported it.

Watching with a punishing ache, Sherlock and John remained silent while Mycroft turned and slowly walked to the conservatory, took a key from his pocket, locked the door and set the key on the tray for Mrs. Hudson to collect when she reappeared.  Now, it was time to find a bed in which to sleep.  Mrs. Hudson could move his belongings once that was chosen and, then, it would be only one last door to lock before all, again, was how he liked it best.  Quiet, uneventful and suffused with the peace of his own company.  What, beyond that, did a man need in this life?  Nothing, of course.  Nothing at all…


	34. Chapter 34

Mycroft’s absence from dinner was not commented upon, nor was the mobilization of Mrs. Hudson and the staff to prepare a new bedroom for the master of the house, who again singly held that title, which, also, would not be commented upon beyond saddened whispers in the staff quarters, kitchen and laundry.  However, that sadness could not erase the joy that Doctor Watson had been returned safe and sound, though, Sherlock was, at this point, a little concerned about the ‘sound’ part of the equation.

      “John?”

The doctor startled slightly at the question, the sight of the library once more filling his eyes, rather than endless stretches of water and bodies, both living and dead…

      “Oh, sorry Sherlock.  Just thinking of the things I have to do now that I’m back in London.  I suppose I’ll have to visit the RGS, though… I have no idea what to say to them.”

      “I doubt they expect you to say anything as the incident was, in no manner, your fault.”

      “I know, it’s just… I would expect they have questions…”

      “Which you will not be able to answer.  Mycroft has done everything possible to gather and confirm the facts of this situation and there is nothing further you can add.  Lives were lost because of recklessness, arrogance and avarice… it is a combination not at all unique in history and, surely, will shadow many tragedies in the future.”

      “That’s true, I suppose.”

Rising and refilling John’s whisky, Sherlock desperately wished he could be of more help in easing John’s pain, but had no idea the proper techniques or strategies for making that happen.  Mycroft might know, but… no matter his desperation, he would not intrude on his brother’s grief with his own problems.  Perhaps Mrs. Hudson would have advice.  She was old and announced frequently that age correlated to wisdom.  If she had no suggestions, then… he had no idea what he might do.  The only other person who could be of help of help to him… was not there to offer it and never would be again.  For now, however, he had only his own counsel on which to rely and that would have to do.

      “As I am a genius, you should have no doubt about brilliance of my insights.”

John laughed wearily at Sherlock’s clear attempts to brighten his mood, but continued to struggle against the rising fatigue that was settling deep into his bones.  He had been existing on nervous, frantic energy for what seemed an eternity and now it was draining away, leaving a vast emptiness in its wake.

      “You’re absolutely right, as always.”

      “Naturally.  But… if you wish to visit the RGS, I shall accompany you to… I have no idea what use I would be, but if there _is_ some use to be found, then I shall be be there to see it realized.”

Now the struggle was to control what remained of his emotions, because Sherlock was… Sherlock was _exactly_ what a man like John Watson needed and no, the strangeness of that was not at all lost on him.

      “Thank you, Sherlock.  I… I do need to go, even… well, I’ll have to discuss, won’t I, what future I might have with them.  In truth, I don’t think I could sign on with another expedition.  Not after this.  If I don’t, though, they probably won’t need me anymore, will they?  There isn’t a need for an expedition doctor in the heart of London, I suspect.  I wonder if I’ll even see my wage packet for the last month.  I wouldn’t blame them if they withheld it.  They didn’t exactly see any return for their monies, did they…”

      “I doubt that is their primary concern, John, not after the debacle of recent weeks.  If you like, however, I will have Mycroft remind them to pay your wage and his warnings are not of the sort that can be ignored.  Besides, given they will not have many hands but yours asking for their wages, they are likely profiting from the… oh.”

The frozen rictus of John’s face had Sherlock fidgeting uneasily in his chair while he urgently searched his brain for what to do, finally deciding that since he was a failure with words, action was the only recourse left.  Tentatively approaching John’s chair, Sherlock wavered a moment before wedging himself next to his lover, being highly grateful for his slim frame, as well as his brother, the chair purchaser’s, enormous one, and wrapped an arm around John’s shoulder, pulling him close and placing a kiss on his temple.

      “I’m sorry, John.”

John leaned against the body now sharing his chair and simply sat quietly for a moment, indulging in Sherlock’s wiry strength and the scent of his body, the overpowering familiarity of which was another blow to his already fragile hold on his emotions that started a thin stream of water flowing down his cheeks, which Sherlock simply wiped away with his long fingers until John had no tears left to shed.  At least, for the present.

      Are you… better, now?”

The extreme uncertainty in Sherlock’s voice set John giggling, for no real reason, other than he’d just done something men were _never_ supposed to do and his dear Sherlock only cared that it had helped.  No, Sherlock wasn’t perfect, but he was a damn sight better than anybody knew… even Sherlock, himself.

      “I am.  This was exactly what I needed.”

      “It was?  I mean… of course, it was.”

      “Your genius manifests in so many ways, Sherlock Holmes.  It’s almost terrifying.”

      “Yes, I can imagine it might be so to someone not used to the encompassing magnitude of my brilliance, but the cross of their terror is one I shall bear with dignity.”

John’s giggle was the sweetest of sounds to Sherlock’s ears and he vowed that even if he had no idea how to be humorous, he would try his very hardest and as often as possible, because he knew he would fracture if he could never hear that particular sound again.

      “You’re an example to us all, kind sir.  And, I’m the one who’s sorry, Sherlock.  This is supposed to be a tremendously joyful time and I…”

      “Yes?”

      “I can’t lose this sense of… guilt, I suppose, is the best word.  I lived, Sherlock.  For no reason other than blind luck.  Not skill, not training, not anything but luck.  Greg’s a better swimmer than I am!  I’ve seen that old bastard dive into rivers that would wash away a tree and he makes it to the other side in the blink of an eye.  He… he could have made it to land pulling a string of others behind him… I scarcely got _myself_ to safety!  But he was the one who died, not me.  They all died…”

      “None of this was your fault, John.  Not a bit of it and I have studied the situation in sufficient detail to be perfectly confident of that fact.  And I highly doubt that if Lestrade had survived that he could have pulled a line of men behind him as he swam towards shore, so, as with you, his own life would have been the only he would have saved.  True, it was luck that you were positioned to make for safety, but that is not something that requires apology.  Or guilt.  A fire burns four houses and misses three.  A horse rears and tramples two people, yet two are able to leap to safety.  I could list countless examples like these… should they feel guilty about continuing with their lives?  Should it be with guilt that their families welcome them back?  Perhaps… perhaps I do not understand your feelings or perceptions and I am unequivocally certain that it is not something about which I will _ever_ serve as an expert, however… you are alive, John.  You are alive and you are returned to those who welcome you with open arms.  If the situation was reversed, we would welcome Lestrade and look forward to reuniting our lives with his.  And, we would be mourning your loss as deeply as we now mourn his.”

John felt no shame nestling in closer to his lover while he let Sherlock’s words knock around his mind.  All of it was true, every word… and one day, there was a chance he might actually believe it.

      “John… is a portion of your dilemma… that Sholto was injured, but you left the army unscathed?”

The air flew out of John’s lungs, but the surprise was not from the ridiculousness of the statement, but because Sherlock’s arrow had hit very near the target.

      “I… perhaps.  I _did_ feel guilty then and it resurfaces on occasion even after all this time.  It’s also… I saw a lot of men die in the army, Sherlock.  A _lot_.  Men more courageous than me, more clever than me, men with wives and children… it’s hard, sometimes, to be the one left standing when you have no reason to offer for it.  Nothing to point to to say ‘this is why I deserved to live.’  This is why they died, but I didn’t.  Nothing.  That’s not… it’s not easy, Sherlock and now, with another ledger of deaths in which my name isn’t written… it’s just not easy.”

No, that much Sherlock could discern, even if he couldn’t quite fathom the emotions behind it, but… understanding was not always necessary.  John _did_ understand.  He understood and felt and suffered.  That was all that mattered.  What _was_ necessary, what he must do above all things, was help John carry those emotions until they faded in his breast.

      “Would… would it be beneficial to talk about this?  If so, John, I am prepared to listen and offer my analyses.”

The magnitude of that offer was not lost on John, who remembered how strongly he had fought against bringing Sherlock into his heart and shuddered at how close he had come to losing the person who, more than anyone, made his life feel complete.

      “It _would_ be good talk.  About this, about a number of things.  Not tonight, though, if that’s alright.  Honestly, with the first good meal in my stomach in recent memory, several glasses of this excellent whisky, the warmth of the fire… and the warmth of you… I just want to rest my head in our bed and sleep until I can’t sleep anymore.”

Sherlock nodded, slightly relieved since he felt completely unprepared to continue their discussion despite his true and genuine offer, and rose from the chair, extending his hands for John to take for a boost up.  So they could go upstairs to their bed.  Theirs.  John had made that most clear.  And, no, it was not giddiness he felt at this most solemn time from John’s clear establishment of mutual territory.  It was… satisfaction that his prediction concerning the resumption of their relationship had been correct.  Contentment, also, that he could offer John a restful sleep, a good breakfast and diversions to occupy him tomorrow after they visited the RGS.  In fact, he could offer diversions to occupy John for any length of time while he reflected upon his likely change of career.  He would take care of the mundanities and John could… think.  And rest.  And talk.  For John, he would take care of everything.  And, together… they could take care of Mycroft…

__________

The fact that Mycroft took breakfast in his office was not, in and of itself, unusual nor was his declining the invitation to accompany them to the RGS, but they _were_ additional items to add to the growing list that Sherlock was keeping of his brother’s questionable behaviors and patterns.  It was a list he would discuss with John when John was ready, a time that certainly was not now.  His lover had slept fitfully, obviously beset by troubling dreams and today’s visit to the RGS had not done much to improve the doctor’s frame of mind, though it had not been further damaged, either.

      “That… I’m not sure _what_ I expected, but I certainly didn’t expect an apology.”

      “I would think, actually, it is the very _least_ they could offer.  It was their decision to take the offer of free transportation, one they did not explore in more depth.  It was their decision, also, be incautious and rush through the preparations for your expedition.  If Mycroft had not stepped in with additional resources, I am not certain you would have been properly prepared, which would have posed its own dangers had the ship made port successfully.  You should have made them grovel a great deal longer before accepting their apology, given the severity of their negligence.”

      “If I thought they weren’t truly distressed by this outcome, perhaps, I would have but… I know those looks on their faces, Sherlock.  I’ve seen them too many times before on the faces of officers who made mistakes that cost men their lives and know, absolutely know, it was entirely their fault.  They’re not turning their backs on their role in this and… they didn’t balk at the suggestion that all earned wages be paid to the families of those lost at sea, as well as a bit extra, and that means more to me than any amount of groveling.  Besides, they offered me a job!”

      “Which you have not accepted.”

      “True, but it was good of them to ask.  If they had offered me a tidy, scholarly position curating medically-related materials brought back to London and continuing to research the biological specimens carried home before this tragedy… it would have been an easy choice.  It’s a very good offer for someone who… may not be going back to Africa on expedition again.”

Sherlock wisely avoided exploring that last statement in any depth because even he knew that John’s emotions now were not what they would be in six months.  It was difficult to imagine someone like John enjoying a simple, scholarly life in London, so the call of adventure could again grow loud in his ears.  This call, however, if it came, would be answered by two men, instead of one.

      “If it is of interest, then you would be wise to consider it.”

      “I will.  Right now, though, I’m… I’m not ready to think about starting a new path in my life.  I have a bit of money in the bank to find rooms somewhere and…”

      “You will remain with us.”

John rubbed his neck and let the fact that he expected that answer and dreaded it, too, stay quietly hidden in the depths of his mind.  It was something he had considered, admittedly hopefully, but there were reasons to argue against it and they were strong ones, indeed.

      “Sherlock… I don’t know if that’s the best idea under the circumstances.”

      “What circumstances?”

      “Your brother, for one.  I am a living reminder that… well, that I returned alone.  That can’t be easy for Mycroft to bear.”

      “What would be difficult for him to bear would be turning his back on someone he knew was Lestrade’s friend, something that surely would disappoint Lestrade greatly.  I assume you also worry about the appearance of things, the propriety of the situation, however, that is also not of concern.  You will be presented as someone who has taken rooms in my home to act as my research associate.  We… we can discuss how long you might find this arrangement suitable at a future time, though, to be clear, I am content with an extended period of cohabitation.”

Sherlock’s attempt at a surreptitious side-eye glance failed miserably, but it made John laugh and that was worth being caught out in his sneakiness.

      “I will give your immensely-compelling argument full consideration.”

      “You would be stupid not to.”

      “Of course.  But, we _will_ have to discuss that with Mycroft.  It _is_ his house and it would be rude to make any decisions without consulting him.  And… we’ll need to talk to him about the funeral service.  I don’t think that’s going to be an easy conversation.”

Something each of them had instantly realized when the idea was broached during their conversation with the RGS board.

      “No, I believe that you are correct.”

      “It was good of the board, though, to consider a funeral for the lives lost, even if it’s really only for the ceremony.”

      “I suppose, though, I have never seen the point of such rituals.  The dead do not care about sermons or testimonials.”

      “No, but the living do.  It’s a show of respect, an honor, for the ones no longer with us and… there’s comfort in that.  Consolation… the only ones to help at this point _are_ the living and the gesture will be appreciated.”

      “I have grave doubts that Mycroft will appreciate any of this.”

      “You could be right, but… I think, as a doctor, it would be good for him to attend.  He can’t ignore this, Sherlock, and I’m worried that’s going to be what he tries.  Greg’s death will only continue to haunt him until he properly faces the reality of it and grieves.  Locking away memories isn’t grieving, it’s hiding and nobody can hide forever.”

      “If anyone can, Mycroft can.”

      “I’d rather not think about the consequences if he tries, so… we’ll do what we can to have him attend the funeral, alright?  Mrs. Hudson will certainly want to be there, so maybe we can leverage that in some fashion to get him to agree.”

Sherlock shrugged, but said nothing, not wanting to cast more doubt on John’s hopes.  Mycroft’s mind was vast and there was bountiful space for any number of things to hide.  Hide where they never again would see an iota of purposeful thought.  This would not be easy, but he would try if John believed it important.  Moreover, John would be part of the household now, so the effort would continue to be a combined one.  That, also, was important.  John would stay.  Stay with him.  That was a good thing.  A very good thing. If a benefit could come from this tragedy, this was certainly one he could appreciate…

__________

      “I do apologize, however, I my schedule will not permit my attendance.”

Sherlock and John shared a look and readied themselves to battle, hoping Mycroft did not stoop to throwing sweets at them, for he had amassed quite a number of boxes of ammunition on his desk, though more were strewn on the ground, already emptied of their contents.

      “We have not told you the date or time.”

      “My schedule, Sherlock, is _eternally_ busy, as you well know.”

      “Your schedule is at your discretion.  You will make time”

      “The current situation in… well, you do not need to know the details, but my full attention is required at the moment for the task at hand.”

      “That was an appallingly meaningless dribble of words!”

      “You are, of course, entitled to your opinion as I am entitled to ignore it.”

      “Mycroft… the service won’t be long and I honestly think it will do you good to be there.”

      “Thank you, John, but I am rather confident that my current supply of ‘good’ is more than adequate for my needs.”

      “It’s your chance to pay your final respects, Mycroft.  This is to honor and remember those who didn’t return and it’s a chance for those knew and cared for them to say their goodbyes.  It’s important, it truly is, to commemorate their lives and celebrate their achievements.  You should be there.”

      “I believe I can accomplish all of that from the comfort of my home, but I do applaud your impassioned speech.  Now, if you will excuse me, I have a veritable library of papers to review.  Do tell Mrs. Hudson, if you would be so kind, that I shall have a number of messages to dispatch and that I shall be ready for a small refreshment in half an hour.  Do enjoy the remainder of your day.”

The clear dismissal lit Sherlock’s admittedly-tiny fuse, but John hadn’t forgotten the signs and hustled the scientist out of Mycroft’s study before the bomb could explode.

      “He is addled!”

      “He’s… your brother suffered a terrible thing, Sherlock, a truly terrible thing and… everyone experiences loss and grief differently.”

      “He is not experiencing; he is doing precisely the opposite.”

      “And that satisfies the ‘differently’ part.”

      “Unacceptable.”

A sentiment John agreed with wholeheartedly, but…

      “Ultimately, it’s not for us to pass judgement.  That being said, we do have a responsibility to keep watch on your brother.  It’s… doctors treat an unsettling amount of melancholia after a loved one dies and that can be a wretched thing to see.”

      “Do you believe attending this funeral business would be beneficial to forestalling that?”

      “I don’t know, but I do believe that he would regret it in the future if he doesn’t take this opportunity to honor Greg’s memory.”

      “Then we continue to try?”

      “We can broach the topic again, certainly, but… gently.  It’s not kind or supportive to badger the poor man, especially now.”

      “Very well.”

Unsure of what the gleam in Sherlock’s eyes meant, John decided a bit of distraction might be in order.

      “You know, I haven’t set foot in your lab yet and, I’m certain, you’ve started a wealth of new and interesting things since I’ve been away.  Care to show me?”

Perfect.  Gleam changes to excited shine, which is far easier to interpret.

      “Ah, yes.  I do have a new set of experiments ongoing concerning the insulatory properties of hair and fur of mammals not commonly used in garment making.  It… Lestrade provided the seed of an idea when he mentioned that he once used the skin of a lion for warmth when an unanticipated period of cold blanketed the region in which you were traveling.”

Oh, the ridiculous lie Greg continued to tell even though it was both ridiculous and a lie.  Well, that fact could continue to remain secret, especially since Sherlock’s light dimmed noticeably mentioning Greg’s name.  Let Greg’s tales and stories, truth and lie, live on as preposterous and colorful as the day they were first told.  His friend would like that.  Greg would like it a lot…

__________

Mycroft didn’t hear the door of his study open, nor the footsteps cross to his desk.  The hand that settled on his shoulder also escaped his notice until his mother sighed and stepped in front of his desk and began tapping in an uninterrupted rhythm that finally broke through Mycroft’s self-imposed wall of isolation.

      “M… Mummy?”

      “Yes, my darling son.”

      “I… when did you… why did you…”

      “Your brother sent a telegram.  Well, it was actually two score of telegrams over the previous week and… I am so sorry, Mycroft.  I am _profoundly_ sorry… I know the pain you are feeling and I wish I could take that from you.”

Moving to take her son in a hug, no surprise was felt seeing said son bolt from his chair and start an avoidance maneuver that he had perfected when he was twelve.

      “Mummy, do control yourself!”

      “Let me hug you!”

      “No!”

The chase around the room continued in a highly familiar pattern until a surprise course correction by his mother brought Mycroft bracing himself for impact with the woman who brought him into his world.

      “Oh, Mycroft… what a tragedy.  You will leave all these foolish papers and come home for awhile.  I know you cannot show your grief terribly well in London, but it will be easier at home.  We will take many walks and carriage rides, you and I, and you will have all the time you need to talk about your Gregory.  All of my attention is yours, Mycroft, do not worry for an instant you shall not have every bit of support and comfort you need in this terrible, terrible time.  And rest.  I know, I know so well, how difficult it is to rest… how easy it is to try and fill each moment with activity so you do not dwell upon the love you have lost, but… I will see you through this, my beloved boy.  Far too young to be a widower… oh, it simply breaks my heart.  Breaks it into a thousand pieces…”

      “Mummy… do not cry.”

      “I’m sorry, Mycroft… I know you need me to be strong for you now, but…”

      “No, it is that your tears are leaving water spots on my waistcoat.”

      “Mycroft Holmes!”

      “Here, have a seat.  You may use my handkerchief.”

Having his head pummeled with a piece of cloth was a new experience for Mycroft and not one he would commend to others.

      “What… what is wrong with you, Mycroft!”

      “I would ask that question of you, who is committing assault before it is even the luncheon hour.”

Staring at her son, wearing an even more aloof and distant expression than usual, Millicent Holmes wondered exactly what was going on behind her Mycroft’s decidedly unmournful eyes.

      “Mycroft… your Gregory is gone.  The man you loved and who loved you with all his heart is gone.  How are you… you!”

      “That is rather more nonsensical than your usual declarations, Mummy, so bravo for that, however, I do have a great deal of work to do, so if you would excuse me…”

      “I… I will not!  Besides, you will _not_ be returning to your work as you must make ready for Gregory’s funeral service.  It begins in two hours and I know you might require time to prepare yourself for what I know shall be a difficult experience, though it shall be one that _will_ offer you comfort.”

      “Well, that shall remain a happy mystery as I have far too much work to do to venture out for such a frivolous thing.  Now, again, if you would excuse me…”

      “Not for an instant!  Mycroft… what is wrong, my darling?”

      “I am being assaulted by my mother, who is attempting to disrupt the workings of government with patent nonsense.”

The feminine huff that shook the foundations of the house was Mycroft’s cue to retake his seat behind his desk and lift his pen with a rather intentional flourish.

      “I shall leave funds with Mrs. Hudson for which you may have free use, perhaps to purchase a new hat or broach that you might seek after Sherlock and John escort you to your little event.  John, I am certain, has an excellent eye for such things.”

Gaping open-mouthed at her son, who was, again, scripting notes and flipping through papers as if the last few minutes had never occurred, the matriarch of the family desperately tried to find evidence of head injury some sort of twitch or cast to the eye to demonstrate one of those mental problems that were currently all the rage.

      “Mycroft…”

      “If you are staying, I shall instruct Cook to prepare something particularly delightful for dinner this evening.  If not, I will ensure a cab is available to take you to the train station when you return from shopping.”

After continuing to gape for a few moments and, being not entirely certain her son still realized she was in the room, Mummy slowly rose and left the study, nearly knocking over the three people who had been listening at the door.

      “I told you, Mummy.  Mycroft has gone insane.”

      “Sherlock, your brother is not insane and I have a medical certification to qualify me to say that.”

      “You have been saying that for days, John, and, still, he behaves in the manner of an insane person.”

      “No… and there are people in the world with true difficulties and they suffer terribly, Sherlock, so stop being an arse… apologies Mrs. Holmes… and… just be decent.”

      “That is asking rather a lot of my son, Doctor Watson, however… I find myself inclined to believe him.”

Sherlock’s triumphant pointing at his mother made John sigh and swallow the growing worry that the two Holmes in front of him had a point.  Not a true point, but one that hovered near enough the edges of a point that it merited some degree of attention.

      “Mycroft is taking a different route through grief than normal, but that doesn’t mean… it’s wrong or that it will last.  He may simply need a little time before he can accept fully what’s happened.  The pain may be too difficult to bear right now and putting it out of his mind until it’s more manageable might be the correct strategy for him.  We’ll just let things be for now and… stay watchful for… any signs the situation is changing.”

Sherlock and his mother shared a look that spoke to their agreement that John was a well-intentioned man and a competent doctor, but didn’t have a lifetime of experience with Mycroft Holmes, who was, if possible, even more confounding and indecipherable than Sherlock.

      “A prudent strategy, Doctor Watson.  Yes, that is surely the thing for it.  Well, I believe a sherry is called for, even at this early hour and then we shall prepare for Gregory’s funeral.  I shall inform Mycroft as to the details of the service when we return.”

Without waiting for an answer, the reigning Holmes queen started for the conservatory and had to be gently turned towards the drawing room where a quick word of explanation would be had before the pouring of the sherry.  Given the tone of the day, it was nearly guaranteed that unpleasantness of that quick word would not at all seem out of place…

__________

Owing to the admirable length of the service and the Mycroft-funded the shopping excursion into the city, the funeral party, minus Mrs. Hudson who had returned much earlier to avoid being sucked into the vortex of Mrs. Holmes on a hat hunt, arrived home very late in the day and, after a dinner seeing three faces instead of the hoped-for four, Sherlock and John went up to the lab to continue their work and Mummy debated a calming second… third… sherry and book or having another discussion with her eldest, ostensibly to describe the funeral he had chosen to miss.  Given the sherry would be waiting regardless of the hour of her attention, speaking with Mycroft seemed the wiser choice.

      “There is my son.  We missed you at dinner and I worried you had been kidnapped by pirates.”

      “Most amusing, Mummy, however, given the status of certain issues with the Royal Navy I would not declare your scenario an entirely impossible one.”

      “You own wit is in evidence tonight, as well, I see.  I had hoped, though, you would join us at table so that we might all have the chance to share our experiences with Gregory’s funeral.  However, I suppose it will do if mine are the only ones you hear tonight.”

      “Ah, yes.  Very kind of you to offer, but that is most unnecessary.  You appear fatigued, Mummy.  Do enjoy a relaxing sherry in the library and…”

      “I would appreciate, instead, a sherry in your conservatory.  It is such a lovely room, and further, I would ask that you join me.  It appears you have not left your desk since we departed earlier today and you surely could use a small respite from your burdens.”

It took a highly-trained eye to catch the flicker of something besides blandness in her son’s eye, but hers were the most highly trained in England.

      “Thank you, Mummy, but I have not the time to spare.”

      “I disagree.  The time required for a lovely sherry is minimal and we can combine that with a discussion of Gregory’s service.  Oh, it was a marvelous thing, an excellent tribute to his bravery and that of those that accompanied him and John.  Let us move our conversation to the conservatory and I shall regale you with all of the details.”

      “I have sufficient detail in my mind that more will not positively enhance my day.  Do go and… I am certain Sherlock would value time spent with you after your trying day, so do not let me hold you back from making a start on that.”

      “I have fully the remainder of the evening to do that, and, now that I have your attention, it would be a terrible waste of time not to use it to best effect.  Furthermore, what better use to put that attention than confirming how proudly your Gregory was celebrated today; describing the stories told of his adventures, the testimonials given on his gentlemanly ways and kind heart, the countless examples recounted of his valor and dedication to his work.”

      “What a splendid day you must have enjoyed.  Did you, by chance, find something new to grace your wardrobe?  If not, I shall do my utmost when next you visit to schedule time to accompany you into the city for further purchasing opportunities.”

It was as if she was conversing with a stone!  Well, that was _not_ going to stand in her way of breaking through her son’s obstinacy…

      “That, of course, is generous of you, my son, however, I would rather focus on the present and discuss Gregory’s funeral.  The legions of people, Mycroft.  The church itself was filled and others waited outside for word of the proceedings.  There shall be a small symbolic tomb erected for the victims, the funds for which I have personally donated, and some commemoration at the RGS itself, the exact nature of which has yet to be decided.  I have no doubt you will wish to take part in the planning, as it will serve as a monument to your Gregory’s life and accomplishments.”

      “Mummy…”

      “Do not discount your brother, either, or Doctor Watson.  Especially Doctor Watson, actually, for he gave me several exceptional ideas for the tomb we shall have erected in honor of those brave, brave men.  Have you any thoughts on the issue, Mycroft?  You have always favored a more sedate approach to such matters, but your brother’s flair will likely temper that.  In fact, why don’t we begin the planning over breakfast!  Yes, just the thing.  Planning over your Cook’s finest repast, or, the finest as she can offer, and oh!  you might bring paper and pencil to sketch our suggestions.  We could… oh I have the very thing… you made the most admirable drawing of Gregory when you visited and that could serve as a model for a relief on one side of the structure or, even better, something majestic to grace the RGS walls.  Where is it?  I remember it being exceptionally representative of his vitality.”

      ‘Mummy…”

      “This is not the time to be modest, my son.  Your artistic talent truly soared with Gregory’s inspiration and that, alone, is a powerful testament to his extraordinary nature.  Your Gregory… so few men even approach his level of vivacity, his zest for life and it’s wonders… perhaps some small bequest to the RGS in Gregory’s name to continue the work he so treasured should be considered.  Isn’t that a grand idea, Mycroft?  Why are you not finding your drawing of him?  We will need it as a model for the sculptor to fashion the image of your Gregory in…”

      “YOU WILL CEASE SPEAKING HIS NAME!”

The roar shook the inkwell on Mycroft’s desk, which was not as worrying as the fact he threw the inkwell against the wall to silence its damnable mockery.

      “Mycroft…”

      “NO!  You will _not_ speak his name.  You will… there is nothing anymore, Mummy.  The paper is blank.”

      “No… no, son.  You cannot think in that manner.”

      “Look around you, Mummy.  There is nothing.  The purity of the silence tells the tale.  Do you see my desk?  It is as it always has been and always will be; nothing has changed.  There is work and there is silence.  That is my life.  That is all I have, all I _will_ have and that is enough.  I will toil and labor and do as I have always done and I shall do that, alone, to my dying day.  Now, you will take yourself from this room and enjoy the remaining amenities of my home at your leisure.  Do make a point of notifying Mrs. Hudson if there is anything you require to make your visit more comfortable.  Good evening, Mummy.  I hope to see you again before you depart.”

Sighing that his pen was now somewhat functionless and making a mental note to purchase for Mrs. Hudson a small gift to compensate her for the extra effort it would be to remove the ink stain from the wall and floor, Mycroft found a pencil and returned to his work, paying no heed to his mother’s tears or the time it took her to rise and leave him as she found him - alone.  Which was, by far, the manner in which he preferred to pass the time.  It was unquestionably the most efficient of situations and highly conducive to his best quality of thought and productivity.  Easily he could bring this pestiferous tariff situation to heel by dawn and these exquisite sweets near his hand would perfectly accompany his victory.  And, since that victory was assured, there was no reason not to begin the celebration now…


	35. Chapter 35

      “Oh, another one.  Well, come in and I’ll have Cook fill a plate for you.”

It had been over four months since the ship went down and Mrs. Hudson had very mixed feelings about the time.  On a positive note, Mr. Sherlock and Doctor Watson had grown into such a fine pair.  True and proper couple, they were, and a good team, too.  Working on their research and Mr. Sherlock’s new interest, which was helping the constables solve particularly gruesome cases.  One headless corpse at Bart’s and the lad was speeding along this new track like a barrel down a steep hill.  Not that Doctor Watson minded, not one bit.  Man loved a bit of adventure and this certainly fit the bill… examining corpses, chasing murderers, snooping around the truly sordid parts of the city… just perfect for a man like him.

What was _not_ so perfect was the stream of thin, unwashed men and ragamuffins appearing at the rear door because Sherlock promised them a meal or a bit of money and clothing if they did this or that errand for one of his cases.  They’d bring information that she had to scribe word for word, or deliver some item she’d have to treat as if it was one of Victoria’s crown jewels, as if she had time for all that nonsense!  Which… which she _did_ have, but it was a lot to ask of a simple housekeeper, especially since the poor dears that arrived were so in need of help and a kind word and who wouldn’t take time to find out a bit about them so if there was a job in need of a body, she might know a body to fill it.  Or make a body do some work here to put some coins in their pocket.  Truly, the furniture hadn’t seen such a gleam, the floor such a polish and the windows as good a washing, inside and out, in years.

However, on a negative note… it had been over four months since the ship went down and Mr. Holmes had not uttered Mr. Lestrade’s name a single time.  Or spoke of him and their time together in any manner.  Which wasn’t precisely unexpected since Mr. Holmes didn’t speak much of… much… anymore.  Man moved about like a ghost in his own home… took most of his meals in his study, didn’t visit the library very often except to find this or that book and scarcely noticed when Mr. Sherlock and Doctor Watson came or went.  All he did was work, sleep and eat… good lord was the man eating.  Cook and the kitchen staff were nearly run off their feet keeping pace with his demands.  The tailor, too, as a new set of clothes was delivered just yesterday since the old ones didn’t fit properly anymore and this wasn’t the first set that had been delivered, either, since Mr. Lestrade’s passing.

      “Mr… Mr. Holmes said I should give you this.”

Oh, sorry dear, forgot you were there.

      “A… is that a finger?”

      “Suppose so.”

      “Oh heavens… put it… no, not on the floor or the dog will have a go at it… here.  Put it in this bowl.  It’s got a crack already and needs to be replaced.  Can’t argue the cost of buying a new bowl when there’s been a dead finger in it, now can you?  Have a seat, dear, and I’ll see you sorted.  And there’s a basket of this and that by the door.  If you see anything in there you want, take it with you.”

See this one fed and with a better shirt on his back, then it’ll be the next one that’ll give the door a knock, holding their hat in hand.  If they have a hat.  Better a hat than a finger, though, which will go immediately up to Sherlock’s laboratory.  Decent people shouldn’t have severed fingers in their kitchen.  This was England and that sort of thing simply couldn’t be tolerated…

__________

      “Good.  The finger is here.”

John wondered if that particular sentence had ever before been uttered in the history of the world.

      “Yes, it is.  And you truly believe you can use it to help identify the victim?”

      “The index finger of the dominant hand can say much about an individual’s profession, however, I suspect it will only confirm what we believe.”

      “Glassworker.”

      “That is the most likely choice.  However, my examination will prove the point to a degree that even Gregson’s spore-sized brain will be able to comprehend.”

      “Well, that’s your afternoon filled.  I may take the time to visit Bart’s and talk more about the surgical position they offered me.”

      “Boring.”

      “Boring, but it pays, something which neither our research nor your devotion to shaming Scotland Yard does to any appreciable degree.”

      “Incorrect.  Only two days ago, Gregson purchased our lunch.”

      “A sausage and an apple doesn’t exactly fill my bank accounts.”

      “No, but it filled your stomach as I refused to eat either the undoubtedly disease-riddled sausage or the mealy apple and you had my portion as well as your own.”

      “True, but I need a few things, Sherlock, and I’m soon to have no money to buy them.”

      “I will give you money.”

      “You don’t have any to give.”

      “Mycroft will give me money, then I will give it to you.”

      “Don’t bother your brother for money, Sherlock.  He’s… he has other things on his mind.”

      “Wrong.  Mycroft has _nothing_ on his mind.  He allows the mechanical side of his brain to march through his various bits of work, much as a tin soldier, and the other side remains inactive, gathering dust and cobwebs like the locked attic room of a madhouse.”

      “That is a horribly evil thing to say!”

      “But accurate.”

John sighed and took a seat on one of the lab stools, running his fingers through his hair partially in exasperation and partially in empathy.  And, a final partially was set aside to broach the topic of conversation they had both been avoiding with extreme care.

      “Sherlock… we need to talk about your brother.”

      “He is a toad on a log, where the log is his study and… well, the toad part is rather self-evident.”

      “Can you… can you stop insulting Mycroft long enough for us to actually talk about this?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but John caught glimpse of a true hope that, no, Sherlock didn’t have to stop insulting Mycroft because insulting his brother was very easy, whereas honestly talking about him was profoundly difficult.

      “Good, thank you.”

      “I fail to see why a conversation is necessary, given you said yourself that it was not our place to judge the manifestation of his grief.”

Something that had been plaguing John incessantly since it became highly evident that Mycroft wasn’t grieving, but burying.  Burying his memories of Greg, burying his memories of happiness and love, burying every emotion and feeling a human could experience…

      “I know and I still believe that’s true, but Mycroft’s not working through his grief and I also said, if you remember, that we have to keep an eye on him, nonetheless.  I’m concerned, Sherlock.  More than concerned and for a number of reasons.  He’s closed himself off to an unhealthy degree and…”

      “He is fattening himself like a Christmas goose.”

      “That worries me, too, yes.  Your brother’s a large man and he’s not terribly active, which already had me a touch concerned, but… this truly worries me, Sherlock.  It’s not healthy, mentally or physically.”

Sherlock scowled but couldn’t deny his own apprehension about his brother’s recent behaviors.  Mycroft was a predictable man and the only thing in his life to have varied that was Lestrade.  These new patterns, in no manner, fit in with his old, though a casual observer might not notice the differences and these new patterns were… upsetting.  His brother would never be mistaken for an affable, garrulous individual, but he would, in the past, not had the potential of being mistaken for a corpse, either.  That potential was currently looming large and not in a metaphorical sense…

      “What would you have us do, John?  Mycroft will not tolerate even the slightest discussion on this subject and you are well aware of that fact.  Mummy has yet to fully recover from her attempt at helping him see reason.”

      “I know.  I know and I can’t say I can offer a suggestion that I actually think will make a difference, but we need to try something.  Could… his own physician.  What if he discussed matters with your brother?”

      “Mycroft pays only perfunctory heed to the man’s advice at the best of times and the bloodletter’s simpering ways will not provide the authoritarian force required to penetrate my brother’s excessively calcified skull.”

John doubted the simpering portion of the argument, but he couldn’t deny his own lack of confidence in his own suggestion.

      “Perhaps… a change of scenery?”

      “Shall we use a catapult to hurl him into Wales?”

      “I _was_ thinking that a little time in the country might do him some good.  Sweet air, away from… here, with the memories… your mother’s home would be a restful place for him, perhaps.”

      “You want him to visit with Mummy?  First, Mummy already made that offer and he refused.  Second, there are memories aplenty there, as well, so it simply would be a move from one difficult situation to another.”

      “I disagree.  It’s enough of a change that it could put matters in a different light.  And, it would offer opportunity for some exercise, even if it’s only periodic walks in your mother’s gardens.”

      “I put the likelihood of that at naught.”

      “Then we try to bring the likelihood above naught.  Would he deny your mother if she asked him to accompany her on a morning stroll?”

      “Yes.”

      “Oh.  Well, maybe if she presses that would change.  We have to do something, Sherlock.  I’ve been watching for signs that Mycroft is improving and I haven’t seen a single one, in fact, he seems to be worsening.  We can’t let this go on.”

      “I agree, but I have no idea how you believe we could convince him to go.”

      “Might he… what if you said _you_ wanted to go.  That you needed some time away from London.  We… we did just attend the unveiling of Greg and the others’ monument last week and…”

      “You want me to deceive him.  Play on his brotherly emotions.”

      “I know it’s horrid, but…”

      “Actually, I find it an admirable suggestion.”

      “Oh… alright.  Will you do it?”

      “Yes.  Mummy’s inquiries into Mycroft’s welfare have grown tiresome and I would seem them lessen in frequency for my own state of mind.  Further, I have hoped to inspect the hives before we moved into colder weather and this will provide me that opportunity.”

Not that John believed for a moment either of those was first and foremost on Sherlock’s mind, but he would keep that viewpoint to himself.  He might not be as observant as the scientist, but not even he could have missed the looks Sherlock gave his brother when he thought nobody was looking and the wealth of worry they contained told a wealth of tales.  This wasn’t the most honorable path but if it helped break Mycroft’s unhealthy ways, then he would swallow the dishonor and chase it with a large celebratory ale.  Mycroft wasn’t his patient, but a doctor’s duty was to see to the health and welfare of those within his ability reach and Mycroft certainly met that standard.

      “Alright then.  Finger now?”

      “Yes, we should solve this particular case before we depart and, while we are at Mummy’s we should pay a visit to the local constabulary and ascertain how often they receive cases of interest.  I suspect the answer shall disappoint me utterly, but rural regions are not immune to the ravages of crime.  It is most certainly a response to the crippling boredom, but their descent into violent behaviors should be mine to enjoy.”

John laughed and felt a bit sorry for the local constable on whom Sherlock would descend like a bird of prey.  It wasn’t something for the faint of heart and, from what he’d heard during their last visit, the chap wasn’t best described as a gladiatorial…

__________

      “Pardon?”

      “I desire to travel to Mummy’s.”

Mycroft pushed aside thoughts of work and focused his attention on Sherlock who was expressing a desire he had never expressed before in his life.

      “I… might I know the reason?”

      “I would have a change from the fetid London air, is that enough?”

No, for it was a rather haphazardly thrown-about lie.

      “For some individuals, yes, however, I do not believe that is the case here.  What is your true reason, Sherlock?”

      “I simply desire some time away.”

      “Again, for some individuals, that would be more than sufficient to satisfy my curiosity, but those individuals are not you.”

      “Why is my reason even of interest?  That I wish to go should be enough.  And you, of course, will accompany me.”

The small suspicion that had grown in Mycroft’s mind enlarged to the size of a prize cabbage and he sighed heavily before waving his hand to dismiss his brother.

      “I have neither reason nor desire to visit Mummy at this point in time, Sherlock.  Good day.”

      “ _I_ have reason.  I… it has been difficult of late given… though you did not attend with us, John and I…”

      “Your exploits with Doctor Watson are none of my concern, Sherlock, unless it is required I script a cheque to pay for the associated damages.  Now, if you wish to take several days in the country to empty your lungs of London air, feel free to do so.  I, however, shall remain here as I have far too much work to be away from the city at present.”

      “That is a lie.”

      “If you like, I shall recite for you the various initiatives on which I am working to verify that I am, for the record, speaking the truth.”

      “I would die from boredom!”

      “Then, let us forego that fate and see you happily out of my study to find another diversion with which to occupy yourself.”

      “No.  We will discuss a holiday at Mummy’s.”

      “The term _holiday_ does not marry well with _Mummy’s_ , so I ask again why you are pursuing this particular line of botheration.”

Damn John!  Why was he not in charge of this?  This was… about feelings!  Lazy doctor…

      “I am… I am finding it difficult to remain in this house with… the myriad of memories it contains concerning Lestrade.”

Oh.  That was not a welcome flash in Mycroft’s eyes.  It looked… dangerous.

      “I have no idea about what you are blathering, brother, so do take your mental meanderings and find John.  I am certain he can assist you in making sense of things.”

      “I want to talk about Lestrade.”

That was even more dangerous.  Mycroft was slow, but he was also enormous and that didn’t bode well in case he was cornered while being pursued by an enraged head of household.

      “Again, the point of this conversation eludes me, Sherlock, so kindly take yourself from my study and find another activity to occupy your time.”

      “Your refusal to acknowledge his memory does _not_ negate his existence.”

      “I refuse nothing, Sherlock, but the guarantee that you are not but moments away from being committed to an asylum.”

      “It would take far longer than moments for that so your threat is flaccid.”

      “Thank you for your edification.  Begone.”

      “We will go to Mummy’s.”

      “You and Doctor Watson are more than welcome to do that.  I will even provide the funds to purchase your train tickets.  Do pass along my greetings to her when you arrive.”

Sherlock fumed and wished his talents for acting extended into the realm of… perhaps acting was not the proper approach.  Perhaps it was time for something he hated beyond the realm of hate.

      “I am… I am deeply worried for you.”

Mycroft looked up from his papers at saw a sight he had very rarely noticed on his brother’s face… honest concern.

      “I have no idea why, Sherlock, but I appreciate your sentiment.”

      “You have every idea why.  You do not speak his name, you have locked away all remnants of his life… you have lost… you have lost not only the spark of life he engendered in you, but what little internal light you had _before_ you met him.  You have become a shell, a husk and… I cannot believe I am saying this, but… I miss my brother!  I miss the man who was plodding and tedious, but had _some_ sense of humor.  A man who took his meals at table, even if he suffocated me with his dreary conversation.  A brother… a brother who was always aware of me and spared a thought for me, even if that thought was to bash in my head with a fireplace poker.  I miss you, Mycroft, and, yes, it _is_ like acid in my veins to express that aloud, but express it I will and freely, at that.”

Sherlock stared at Mycroft with an intensity that left absolutely no doubt in Mycroft’s mind that his brother was absolutely serious.

      “Lestrade is gone. that cannot be changed, and I grieve terribly for his loss.  He was… he was a juvenile, boastful, ridiculous man, but he was… he was my friend.  I feel his loss in each of my days, but I have talked with John, many times… with Mrs. Hudson, as well… and, slowly, I am feeling less pain when I speak about him.  I will never forget him, but… I am confident that, with time, I will remember him and share his stories without heartache.  You, if you are willing, will be able to do the same.  You loved him, Mycroft… do not let that love die a cold and unacknowledged death.  I… I know I am not at all qualified to serve as a confidant in these matters, but… I will be a willing ear for you.  And I ask you… oh, this is crippling… I _beg_ you to make use of it.  I cannot lose you, brother.  I simply cannot.”

Whirling around, Sherlock dashed out of the study before more sentiment dribbled out of his mouth and raced to find John.  This was a disaster!  Nothing had gone to plan, but… but in those last moments of his treacly and nauseating speech he had seen something flare in his brother’s eyes that was _not_ dangerous.  It was overpoweringly mournful, but… there was the smallest mote of gratitude hidden amongst the darker thoughts that… even if nothing about his brother changed, there was something in Mycroft’s heart that appreciated his trying to help.  It was the tiniest of things, but… it was something.  It was more than existed before…

__________

Watching his brother leave, Mycroft forced down the embarrassing urge to call out for him to stay and, instead, plucked a small handful of nuts from their dish and let their rich flavor still his troublesome emotions.  Poor Sherlock… exposing his heart in that fashion was certainly an overwhelmingly difficult thing, but he _had_ done it and… and for the unworthy man sitting in this chair.  Sherlock was right, in one sense… he _was_ a husk.  A façade that overlay a vacant, hollow center.  However, that was not as different as his brother seemed to believe.  He had his place in the world and it was an incalculably valuable one.  He kept the heart of government beating and that was entirely possible without having a heart of his own.  That being said… he _should_ pay more attention to Sherlock, who had a far more tender heart than his own and capacity to let the world’s ugliness cause him pain.  It was his duty, after all, as elder brother and he was, unquestionably, devoted to duty.  It was and would always be his guiding path and it was a path he trod gladly… a path that welcomed him when others were well and truly closed…

__________

      “Three of you!  Good heavens… Doctor Watson, could you set aside your tea for the moment to go and find… Sherlock!  Good, you’ve got three here to see you and they look like drowned rats.  You see them managed while I make them a little nibble…”

Sherlock stood confusedly in the center of the kitchen, not certain which issue to tackle first, but decided on the three urchins dripping rainwater on the kitchen floor, something that was sure to earn him a pinched ear from Mrs. Hudson once the children were gone.  Which, fortunately, happened rather quickly since, once they delivered their information and had each a large hunk of cheese in one hand, a larger hunk of bread in the other and a piece of fresh fruit in their pocket, raced out of the kitchen and scattered to the four winds.

      “Well?”

John’s tone was so hopeful that it made Sherlock snarl because he hated that he would have to disappoint John so miserably.

      “No.  Mycroft… he gleaned my intent, I suspect, and was most intractable.  He will not go.”

Having had her own little conversation with John on the topic while Sherlock was pleading his case, Mrs. Hudson felt her own bit of hope dashed and stopped a moment to give Sherlock a small hug and gentle smile.

      “I’m sure you tried, lad.  Doctor Watson was telling me about your little plan and… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry it didn’t work.  But you tried and that’s something to be proud of.  And I know that, somewhere deep inside, Mr. Holmes was happy you made the effort.  Shows you care and he values that, Sherlock, he truly does.”

Something Sherlock would not admit aloud was true, but… the look in Mycroft’s eyes left no doubt.  Taking a seat at the small kitchen table Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and wished, again, he had better news to deliver.

      “I’m sorry, too, Sherlock.  I know you did your best.”

Given the Cook was actually at the market at the moment and the only other person in the room was Mrs. Hudson, John covered Sherlock’s hand with his own and gave it a tender squeeze.

      “Do we… do we try again?”

That Sherlock even asked the question was reason to smile and it was shared gladly between John and Mrs. Hudson.

      “Yes, we do.  Someday, maybe not today or even soon, but someday… it _will_ make a difference.”

Sherlock nodded and hoped that John was correct.  At the rate Mycroft was deteriorating, he was worried that later would not have the chance to follow sooner as it would for any other person in this world…

      “Very well.  Given we shall make no progress on the Mycroft situation today, finish your tea and we will continue our work from this morning.  Then, we should find Gregson and inform him of the results.  I suspect that with the information just delivered and what we have discovered through our tests, he might see this case solved before the turn of the century.”

      “I will finish my tea and then have _another_ cup because the thought of going out in the rain today isn’t filling me with joy.”

      “You are a weak man, John.”

      “That’s what the tea is for.  Bolsters my fortitude.”

Sherlock snorted loudly and Mrs. Hudson made certain to place something sweet in front of him and John, mostly to give Sherlock something to do with his mouth besides snort.  Poor lad… even a blind woman could see he was still very concerned about his brother.  Sherlock’s heart was a big one, but he didn’t like to let it show.  Maybe, just maybe, though, having it peek out a little would push Mr. Holmes in the right direction. Whereas a quiet house was always a blessing, this form of quiet was her own private form of hell.  Her boys were in pain and until that changed, she would be, too…

__________

Two months had passed since Sherlock’s conversation with his brother and, barring Mycroft’s near-silent appearance at breakfast or dinner an additional one or two times per week, nothing had changed with the elder Holmes and John’s concern had escalated to a highly palpable level.  The man sat or lay his entire life away and had gained additional weight so that a third set of garments had to be ordered.  His pallor was exceedingly unhealthy and there had been a few instances of unsteadiness on his feet that had either John or Sherlock leaping to steady him before he fell.  If things continued on this course, sitting might even be an option for him and Mycroft could become bedridden, which would surely begin a rapid downward spiral until… it did not bear considering.

      “You are thinking.”

And through these horrid months, Sherlock had suffered bouts of his own malaise which took no small amount of time to remedy.  When there were no cases from the police to pursue and they were at a lull with their research, Sherlock’s thoughts turned inward and that was not always a kind place for his lover.  He still carried his own sense of loss for Greg, his ached with intense worry for his brother and carried further worry for Mrs. Hudson and his mother, who were visibly disturbed by Mycroft’s condition.  Maybe today they should leave the house for a bit of entertainment.  A stroll through a museum might be worthwhile.  Or see, tonight, what might be on for some music or other entertainment in the music halls.  London was a good city for things to occupy one’s self and they might as well take advantage of that.

      “Sorry, Sherlock, but you’re mistaken.  I’m staring blankly, but I do see how you could confuse that with serious thought.”

      “Are you being humorous?”

      “I was trying, but, obviously, not succeeding.  Find that piece of muslin you wanted?”

      “Yes, though I had to suffer the rather spirited beatings by the maids to obtain it.”

      “You invaded their rooms, didn’t you?”

      “Who else would have muslin but the maids and where else would it be found besides on their person?”

      “You’re lucky none of them blacked your eye.  They’re more than slightly robust when it comes to strength.”

      “Yes, Mrs. Hudson is prone to hiring staff who are physically vigorous.”

      “That’s because she knows they have to give you a knock now and again.”

      “I will grant her a commendation for foresight, but rescind it because one particular blow to my arm is beginning to ache.”

John laughed and rubbed the area to which Sherlock was pointing, rolling his eyes at Sherlock’s pained exclamations and pitiful groans.

      “Most generous of you.  But, also not, so the scales remained nicely balanced.  And, since this book will happily wait for me as long as I like, I’m of a mind to use this lovely day to see us enjoy a nice stroll in the sunshine.  How does that strike you?”

      “Why would I want to stroll?”

      “Because it serves as a prelude to a destination one strolls towards?  Like a museum or the Zoological Garden?  It’s a fine day, Sherlock, and that fineness isn’t doing us good while we mill about indoors.”

      “Ugh… fresh air and sunshine.  Is there anything more tedious?”

      “Do you have paper?  I’ll make a list.  A very long list…”

      “Spare me your scribblings.  Speaking of… do not think it has escaped my notice that you are recording, somewhat floridly, the details of some of our cases.”

Oh no.  Deflect.  Or diminish in importance.  Something.  Anything!

      “Just a way to pass the time.”

      “I disagree, for you have taken pains to verify the spelling and grammar of your prose, which is not required if one is simply keeping a personal diary of events.”

      “It’s a show of respect to my schoolteachers.  When I was a boy, they made all of that seem very important and it’s a tragedy to let all their hard work go to waste.”

      “What is going to waste is my time, while I stand here and listen to your ridiculous fabrications.”

Knowing that particular look on Sherlock’s face as one signifying the scientist was prepared to continue this thread of discussion until the end of time, John sighed, set aside his book and cleared his throat.

      “I may have had a conversation while I was at Bart’s which makes things like spelling and grammar a bit more of a concern to me than they normally might.”

      “Continue.”

      “I was consulting on a leg injury and the father of the boy who’d been hurt… he’s a publisher.  We started chatting and… he expressed interest in the work we were doing with Scotland Yard.  Wondered if I might script the details of a few cases for him to read to… see if they were something the public might enjoy.”

After several seconds of silence, John waved his hand to get Sherlock’s attention and wasn’t surprised he had to add a pinch to get that to happen.

      “Why would the ignorant public have an interest in our work?  And… ow.”

      “Because, despite what you think, they’re not all ignorant and the work we’ve been doing for the police _is_ interesting, viewed a certain way.”

      “Which way is that?”

      “The… interesting way.”

      “The inanity of that cannot be overstated.”

      “Fine!  I’m writing the cases in such a way… it’s not the case itself, always, that’s likely to inspire interest, but what you do to solve it.  That _would_ interest people, Sherlock.  Following along while you use that magnificent brain of yours to find and analyze clues, wear your foolish disguises…”

      “They are _not_ foolish!”

      “Yes, they are.  It doesn’t matter, though, because I don’t write it like that.  I write that your disguise was clever, inspired, impenetrable and it helped you gather all sorts of highly important information.  The people you’ve conscripted to race about for you, the fights you’ve had, though I don’t necessarily add in the times I’ve had to step in and give you some help, all of that is something the average person might like to read.  I give myself some time to shine, too, I must admit.  Showcase some of my own talents and strengths.  My writings… well, the publisher will tell me if they’re good, but I’ve had Mrs. Hudson read a few and she both enjoyed them very much…. after I made certain to add in a bit more about her, but that’s beside the point.  We’ve both been working on the papers for our research, but when you’re doing something alone, I’ve found that a little writing has been… fun.  I’ve enjoyed it and, I think that with some effort and practice, I might be good at it.”

      “And you honestly believe your stories will be well received?”

      “I have no idea, but I’m willing to let them be published so I can have an answer to that.”

Sherlock pursed his lips and began pacing the library floor casting looks at John, who simply sat and waited for judgement.

      “I do not have to be involved in this, I assume.”

      “In the writing?  No.  However, if you’d like to read them fully before I submit them for publication, then I welcome your opinions.”

A bit more pacing accompanied Sherlock’s ‘I’m thinking’ scowl and John continued to wait patiently until Sherlock stopped directly in front of him and huffed.

      “Oh very well.  I suppose it will do no harm and if it increases your sense of self-worth, then I shall simply have to remain vigilant that you do not become intolerably arrogant because of it.”

That was as good a ‘I wish you great success, John’ as John could ever have hoped.

      “I’ll try not to become another you, so there’s not competition for the title of most insufferable man in the house.”

      “Are you again being humorous?”

      “Yes.  Yes, I am.”

      “We will work on your ability to affect a jocular persona.”

      “Thank you.  I very much look forward to it.”

      “I will make the experience an informative one.  Now, you said something about a stroll?”

No matter how long he lived, John was certain he would never be able to perfectly predict his partner’s mind and, in full honesty, he was gloriously happy for it.  Where was the fun in life if there were no surprises to be had?

      “That I did.  Shall we make a start on that?”

      “Shortly.  I need to prepare a list of supplies for our next series of experiments and we may shop for them while we… stroll.”

      “That sounds very efficient.  Shall I assist?”

      “If you like.  Or you may continue to read your insipid novel until I am finished.”

      “Insipidity it is, then.  You’ll likely work faster without my distracting you, anyway.”

      “That is a certainty.  I shall not be long.”

John grinned as Sherlock strode regally out of the library and put it at even odds he’d have to go and find the big oaf because he distracted himself with this or that and forgot all about their stroll.  Oh well, that would give him more than enough time to put few additional chapters of this book into his mind.  Had to start paying attention to the writerly parts of stories, now, not just whether or not he liked them.  If is stories were to be published, and that was a tremendous if, then they should be something he’d be proud to point to and claim.  But… that was something to think about tomorrow.  Today, there was sunshine and an agreeable Sherlock to squire around London… that was more than enough to make him a happy man…

__________

      “Oh… look at you, you poor dear.”

Mrs. Hudson had taken to coordinating with Cook to ensure that the house’s grocery supply handily stretched to cover the number of callers at the kitchen door and that one of the house staff made a run weekly to purchase quantities of cheap clothing in adult and child sizes to give to the unfortunates who arrived to complete whatever task Sherlock had set them to do.  Luckily, the word didn’t seem to have made its way too far into the general population of they’d be inundated with hopefuls looking for their next meal and a new hat for their head.

      “Mrs… Mrs. Hudson?”

      “Yes, love.  Come in, come in… oh those sticks of yours must be tiring.  Never had crutches before, myself, but they look to be a mischief.  Here, let’s get some food into you, poor skinny thing that you are.  Can’t find work if you’re thin as a wick!  Especially with sticks holding you up.”

      Mrs. Hudson…”

      “Yes, dear?  Sit, sit!  You can give whatever it is you’re to give to Sherlock in a moment.  He’s still here, I think, so you and he can have a nice chat about opium dens or forgers or whatever it is he’s sent you off to find.”

The hand on Mrs. Hudson’s shoulder startled her and she made ready to call for help if necessary when she caught sight of something that made that call die in her throat.

      “Mrs. Hudson… don’t you… don’t you remember me?”

The words didn’t make it into the housekeeper’s ears because she was too busy focusing on what her eyes were seeing.  Which was… eyes.  The face was nearly skeletal and the stubble on the face uneven and unruly, but… there was no mistaking the warm brown eyes that were looking at her with a needful hope that was breaking her heart as quickly as her heart was filling with joy.  Which made for a chaotic combination that manifested as a piercing shriek that had footsteps racing towards the kitchen, one pair slower and heavier than the others, though the crush at the kitchen door made it a dead heat and spirited fight for bodies to actually make it through.  Which, in order, was John, Sherlock and, after shooing away a bevy of maids, Mycroft.

      “We’ll handle this, Mrs. Hudson.”

John advanced on the housekeeper and the man accosting her and had his own startle seeing Mrs. Hudson leap in front of her attacker hand hold out her hands.

      “NO!  Doctor Watson… no!  Look… dear lord, look… oh, oh, I can’t believe this.  I’ve prayed and prayed… oh…”

John looked at the dirty, skinny crippled man and suddenly felt his heart lodge in his throat.

      “Gr… Greg?”

Sherlock’s loud gasp sounded behind John a millisecond before the scientist rushed forward to stand nose to nose with their guest who seemed almost frightened by Sherlock’s intensity.  Something which grew even more heated as Sherlock finally convinced himself that his senses were not telling tales.  Breaking away his gaze, he turned to look at his brother, who had slumped against the door frame, his skin turned bone white and his body racked with trembling.

      “M… Mycroft?  Love?  It’s me… it’s… it’s Greg.”

Slowly, given the highly polished floor, Greg made his way towards Mycroft, who seemed poised to bolt from the apparition risen from the grave, and steadied himself before reaching out to run his fingers across Mycroft’s cheek.

      “It’s me, love.”

      “No… no, it cannot be… you… you are dead…”

      “I can’t be dead, Mycroft… you’d never forgive me if I died and I c… can’t have that on my conscience, now can I?”

Smiling as reassuringly as he could, Greg stood stock still as Mycroft raised a hand and tentatively laid a finger on Greg’s chin, touching it lightly a few times, before using two fingers to trace the rough line of the explorer’s jaw.

      “Gregory?”

      “Yes, love…it’s me.  I promise it’s me.”

Mycroft stared into the gaze of the man he loved and, finally, felt hot, stinging tears rise in his eyes.

      “You are returned to me.”

      “As long as you’ll have me.”

Letting his crutches fall, Greg took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Mycroft, holding on tightly and burying his head in Mycroft’s neck.

      “I missed you, love.  I missed so you so greatly.”

Mycroft’s eyes lifted to his family, who were still standing shocked and cared not that they clearly saw tears on his face.  Slowly lifting his arms, Mycroft pulled his greatest love even closer and felt his soul fly as if it had been released from the deepest, darkest of dungeons.

      “And I have m… missed you, my dear.  Missed you desperately…”

As Sherlock and John shared a disbelieving look, Mrs. Hudson dabbed her eyes and gave each of the younger men a long hug.  Their family was whole again.  Whole and alive and under this roof where they were loved beyond bounds.  And that love was going to be very, very valuable in the coming days because… whatever had happened to Mr. Lestrade, it hadn’t been pleasant and he would need their love and support more than ever.  Fortunately, they had an endless supply to give…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment here, on tumblr or twitter (eventhorizon451), but do comment away on this turn of events ;-)


	36. Chapter 36

      “Gregory… my beloved Gregory… wherever have you been?  Wh… what has happened to you…”

John cut eyes towards Sherlock, who was scarcely recovered from his own shock, and nodded towards the couple, stepping forward slowly so as not to startle Mycroft and Lestrade, who were completely lost in each other’s arms.

      “Mycroft… why don’t we let Greg sit a moment.”

Mycroft’s arms tightened around the fragile man as if he would never in this life let the explorer out of his embrace again.

      “John is correct.  Let us… sit.”

Tightening his arms again, Mycroft cocooned his lover and nobody in the room would ever admit to hearing the small, pained ‘no’ sounding through the kitchen in the elder Holmes’s voice.

      “It’s alright, dear, your Greg’s going to be right with you.  He’s not going anywhere.”

Mrs. Hudson pushed through the wall of Sherlock and John to rub Mycroft’s arm and talk quietly with him as one would a very elderly relative who had gotten a bit confused, until he finally loosened his grip slightly, not that the explorer took advantage of the extra freedom, instead nestling as deeply as he could into his Mycroft’s hold.

      “You, too, Mr. Lestrade.  Let’s get some food into you and… oh, a nice cup of tea.  I expect you could use one.  Come along, dear, we’ll see you to the library and…”

That did make Greg move and a look come into his eyes that startled Mycroft as the adventurer pulled back and wavered slightly to try and gain balance without his crutches.

      “N… no.  Not the library.”

Three men stood in confusion, but Mrs. Hudson understood the wealth of tiny signals being sent and they broke her already-shattered heart.  Her Mr. Lestrade should never be ashamed of being dirty, not with… with whatever he’d suffered that left him like this, but she wasn’t going to raise that issue right now.  Man deserved to hold onto whatever pride he still had and it wouldn’t be her to kick it away from him.

      “Then let’s have a seat in here, shall we?  Something especially cozy about a kitchen and we might as well enjoy it.  Sherlock, move Mr. Lestrade’s sticks and he’ll escort me to the table.”

Lending her shoulder and arm for support, Mrs. Hudson helped Lestrade move to the small servant’s table and saw him seated before she darted off to pull together something for the explorer to eat and tea for everyone, something that gave her the chance to have a little moment of her own away from the eyes of the rest of the household.  This was… you read about this sort of thing in books, but never thought it could happen in the real world.  But there was the proof!  The poor man, what he must have suffered, but he found his way back to them and saved Mr. Holmes in the process.  This was simply the work of magic, it had to be…

At the table, while Mrs. Hudson worked and reminded herself to leave out bread and milk for the pixies in thanks for whichever of their brethren was looking after her explorer, Mycroft took a chair next to Lestrade’s and budged it as close as possible so he could hold his lover’s hand, which felt so small and breakable in his grasp.

      “My dear… where have… what has happened to you.  We sought every piece of news, d… desperately tried for any word, but…”

With Mycroft choking on his words and the emotion behind them, it was left to Sherlock and John to try and gain the explorer’s story, something which neither felt particularly capable of doing in a gentle way, since both wanted nothing more than to shake Greg until all the pieces of his tale fell off him like ripe apples from a tree.  A quickly shared glance set John in motion to lead the charge.

      “I looked for you, mate.  I looked in the water and I looked when I made land.  When I found a village, I looked, asked for information and did the same when I was able to get to a port.  I never had the slightest word of you and… you were near the boiler when it went!  How… how did you survive?”

Sherlock quickly put an arm around John who had begun to shake as the image of his friend trying to find safety filled the doctor’s mind, along with another, more insidious thought.  Did he fail Greg?  If Greg made it from the ship, then… why didn’t he wait longer!  Stay on shore where he landed and wait for others.  Walk the edge of the water and search for survivors longer than he had… if he failed his friend, he’d never forgive himself.  It didn’t matter that Greg made it home.  If he’d had a chance to prevent any of this ravaging… no, there would be no forgiveness.

      “I… I’d gone back to my berth.  Forgot to have money on me and stopped a few minutes to talk to one of the crew on the way back.  I wasn’t where I was supposed to be, so… they did all die, I suppose.  It… the explosion was horrifying.  I was on the stairs and… they just… twisted and pushed out and there was piping that came down… it carried water or steam, I don’t know, but they burned and were heavy and I was under them, my legs at least…”

John kept his eyes closely on his friend and hated that he recognized this.  He’d seen so many, far too many, brutalized in war who still, even after years of surviving their trials, experienced great distress when speaking about them though their wounds had long healed and they were far away from their nightmares.

      “It’s alright, Greg.  In your own time.”

Mycroft glared at John because, in his opinion, his Gregory should cease speaking this very instant.  It was clear this was upsetting him and… nothing was allowed to do that.  Never again would his beloved be subject to distress and pain… had had more than a lifetime’s share already.  Several lifetimes worth was more like it…

      “Thanks, John.  It’s… I don’t remember a lot, actually.  I was pinned until the ship shifted again and… things moved enough that I could get free.  I… couldn’t really walk and the water started coming in… that… that was a blessing, in a way, because it pushed me and my arms worked, so…I could move from place to place by letting go and swimming as hard as I could with only my arms.  It was rising, too… the water I mean, so _I_ was rising and… it was only because there were no locked hatches in my way that I made it from the bowels of the ship and… it was already underwater for the last bit and… it was hard to see and I thought… I thought I was going to drown…”

Mrs. Hudson, just arriving at the table, quickly set down her tray and took the explorer in a large hug, whispering ‘You’re strong and brave and clever and no bit of water was going to take you.  Not you, dear… you bested that bastard and don’t you forget that’ before scurrying back towards the oven to start making something a little heartier for her lads.  Cook didn’t like others having a go with her pots and pans, but this was her afternoon off, so hang all of that.  Something warm and filling to comfort that dear man and start adding more to his bones than skin.  It was as if every stone Mr. Holmes had gained had come from Mr. Lestrade…

      “But, you did not, my dear.  You survived that horror.”

      “Scarcely.  I broke the surface and… it was nothing but confusion with debris floating about and… I was struggling to stay afloat with just my arms and… the pain… I was starting to feel the pain.  If I hadn’t found an empty barrel…”

      “Me too.  That’s what got _me_ to shore.  Guess barrels have a special love for daft bastards.”

Greg’s eyes turned towards John and widened as if he was just now remembering the doctor was on the ship with him and the ghost of the smile they all remembered settled briefly on his lips.

      “That they must.  Mine… it didn’t get me to shore, though.  There was a leak somewhere and it began to fill with water… all I was doing was bobbing anyway and… one of the large crates we’d left on deck was nearby and broken apart and… the lid had separated and…”

Mycroft laid a calming hand on Lestrade’s shoulder, then moved it to cradle the back of his lover’s thin neck.

      “It was like a raft, see?  I could get on it and… I wasn’t in the water, at least not so much.  It was just… I was so tired and my legs, worthless sods… the pain was becoming unbearable and… I don’t know what happened for awhile…”

      “You likely lost consciousness, Greg.  That was… that was an enormous upset to your body and it’s normal for that to happen when you’ve suffered such a level of shock and injury.”

And it would go to his grave that Greg’s words washed away a staggering amount of John’s guilt, for the current had been notable and if Greg was unconscious and unable even to paddle, then he could have traveled quite far before finding land.  Farther than it was feasible for a man suffering his own shock to easily search…

      “I suppose that’s true.  When I became aware again, there was just water and a glimpse of land.  No ship, no barrels… I couldn’t do anything to help my legs so… I tried to paddle, but it was so hard against the current and the wind was up, too.  It took… hours, days, I don’t know.  I wasn’t awake all the time…”

Sherlock fought hard against the mental image of Greg, broken and in pain, on a small raft, desperate for help that never came.  The explorer was brash and braggardly, unutterably foolish, but the inner strength he must have to made his way to land, let along back to London… it defied imagination.

      “But you did, my beloved.  You _did_ make it to land.”

The hand than ran along Lestrade’s jaw was one he’d been certain he’d never feel again and, once more, the explorer’s emotional control was primed to shatter.  Struggling not to dissolve into a shaking mass of flesh, Lestrade took several deep breaths and steadied himself before answering.

      “I did.  I don’t know where, precisely, but I reached the shore and…”

It was then Mycroft realized that floating on water was most easily done with injured legs, but walking was another matter entirely.

      “… it was all I could do to find a solid branch to use as support to walk and, even then… I had to try and…”

The distress flared sharply in Lestrade’s eyes and, this time, it was John who reached out, his doctor’s training processing the likely problems, with burns and breaks, and knew he would give everything he had or every would have to have been there to help his friend.

      “You had to try and set the breaks, didn’t you?”

      “Yeah… there wasn’t much to use, but I did what I could.  One leg was… is… bad, but the other… it didn’t shatter like the first and I could put weight on it, to some degree.  I… I found a place to rest.  Cool and near water.  I stayed there a day or so.  There were plants I recognized with roots or fruit I could eat.  Then, I started off to find a village or people or any sign of… anyone.  That took… I don’t know how many days I walked.  A lot, that I know that much.  There was, finally, a hunting party and they made a litter to take me to the nearest village.  The healer there… he helped with the pain and the burns.  But, I’d been… it’d been a lot of time I’d been doing what I could, resting, finding food and water when possible and there was nothing… I had no bandages beyond my own clothing…”

John sighed heavily and felt pieces fall into place, wishing they didn’t fit this puzzle quite so well.

      “Infection set in, didn’t it, Greg?”

The explorer’s slow nod earned another of John’s sighs and he remembered all the times he’d seen men lost to infection that raged beyond his control, or could have been controlled if he’d had the proper supplies and medication, both of which were often sparse on the battlefield.

      “When I began to worsen, they sent a lad to the nearest white settlement, thinking they might have something to help the white bloke their techniques weren’t saving.  That took awhile and… by the time they got me back to a European doctor… I wished I’d been left to stay with the native people.”

      “How bad was it?”

Sherlock cocked an eye towards John, but let his curiosity remain silent.

      “Not the worst, and I’d not say a thing against the doctors there, but… it wasn’t like the village and, I suppose the water wasn’t as clean or safe…”

Infection and fever… no grace at all had been given to Greg and John began to grow very anxious to give his friend an examination to get a better look at the damage that had been done.  And what _might_ be done to alleviate at least some of it.

      “I’m so sorry, Greg.  It’s that way, sometimes, though I wish to heaven it wasn’t.”

This set of cocked eyes was from John, but directed towards Mycroft, who had made a low and dangerous sound in his throat that reminded the doctor that wealthy, privileged London residents had little idea about what doctors saw and battled when they weren’t treating a patient in the comfort of the patient’s opulent home, where the sanitation was acceptable, the food was plentiful and nutritious and there were diversions to keep the sick or injured mentally stimulated so they didn’t sink into a pessimistic frame of mind, which caused its own set of problems.

      “Oh Gregory… how badly did you suffer?”

The slight tremor that racked Lestrade’s body had Mycroft taking his hands away from the tea for which he had been reaching to nudge towards his lover because he’d suffered the icy, silent wrath of Mrs. Hudson over his thrown inkwell and did not need to consume a second portion because he hurled a cup against a wall and wasted her good tea.

      “It… it wasn’t good.  I couldn’t… I’d begin to recover and find myself in its grip again.  The infection in my legs and feet, too.  It… sometimes, quite a lot of the time, actually, I didn’t remember who I was or how I got there and… like I said, it wasn’t good.”

John couldn’t say he’d never heard the like, because he had.  Saw it, too, more times than a body ever should.  Once the body was bedeviled, it lost the strength to fully conquer the sickness and, like an army not defeated to the last man, it recruited new numbers and attacked again.  And again, and again.  It could tear a man apart for months… which, apparently it had.

      “Why… why did you not send word, Gregory.  I would have had you brought home immediately!”

John saw his friend was still lost a bit in his memories and took up the answer for him.

      “It’s too long a journey for someone in that condition, Mycroft.  They need eyes on them, continuous care.”

      “Then… you could have returned to assist him!”

      “Greg didn’t know I was alive.  Which…”

John shrugged his shoulders and Mycroft sighed softly, realizing that not only had his Gregory suffered his own physical ills, but, also, the sure certainty of the loss of his dear friend.  However, that did beg the question… why was Gregory not astonished when he first saw John here in the kitchen?

      “I would have gone to Africa.”

Sherlock’s slightly tremulous tone warmed Mycroft’s heart like a cozy fire and he vowed, vowed with the most forceful of oaths, to express to Sherlock how meaningful had been his attempts these past months to communicate and offer help.  He had not taken advantage of any of it and showed neither appreciation nor, often, acknowledgement of his brother’s efforts, but they _had_ registered and on many an abysmally-black day, that had been the only thread that kept the fabric of his life from unravelling completely.

      “I know you… I know you would have, lad.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Lestrade, who was looking at him wistfully, and felt a few of his own threads begin to weave together.

      “Then, why did you not send the message?”

      “Many days, I wasn’t… it was all a hot, sweaty swirl of things in my head that made little sense.  When I had a rest from that… all I thought about was rest.  And when the next go around would begin.  You _would_ have come, Sherlock, I know, but I wasn’t thinking about that.  I wasn’t thinking about much at all, actually.”

And there was another thread.  There was something more in the explorer’s eyes that the pain of memory.  There was an intention not yet spoken.

      “My heart bleeds, Gregory, thinking of you in such a way.  My dear, dear Gregory…”

Mycroft was having a very difficult time controlling his own emotions, but he cared little at the moment because his Gregory deserved his tears.  It was inconceivable that his love had endured such a harsh fate and made it to London in any manner a whole man, yet here he was and everything possible that could be done to return more of his wholeness would be undertaken quickly and thoroughly.  A measure of time in the country, perhaps.  The tranquility of the region would provide his Gregory the additional rest he needed and opportunities for gentle exercise.  John would come, of course, to tend to all aspects of Gregory’s health and Sherlock, needless to say, to give his dearest the bolstering effects Sherlock’s personality seemed to have on this man, who greatly valued the unique and colorful.

      “It’s alright, love.  I’m here…”

      “Tell us about that, Lestrade.  How _did_ you affect a return to London?”

Greg smiled softly and shook his head with a slowness that made Sherlock wonder if there were still physical problems with which the man was grappling.  Beyond the obvious, of course.  John would need to discern any continuing issues and begin treatment immediately.  Whatever the cost, whatever equipment or medications were required, they would be made available, even if he had to build or concoct them himself.

      “Once the fever seemed vanquished, I began asking about getting to a port.  I didn’t have any money, but there were a number of Englishmen in the area and… they donated the money to hire a lad to drive a little donkey cart with me in it to the nearest coastal town and to find a cheap berth back to London.  I… I do need to send back the funds.  They said it was a gift to a fellow Englishman, but nobody there was terribly wealthy and… it’ll let them know I made it back.  Their good deed actually _did_ some good.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes again and flicked them quickly towards his brother, not entirely surprised that Mycroft was failing to register certain points, or their lack, in Lestrade’s tale.

      “And when did you arrive?”

Ah.  That insidious flash.  The man believed he could hide, but, apparently, he had forgotten with whom he made a home.

      “Just… Just this morning.”

      “Wrong.”

Mycroft and John both looked at Sherlock, John with slightly less shock that Mycroft, because something had been tapping at the doctor’s notice, too.

      “What... Sherlock… I think I would know when my ship docked.”

      “And you then made a quick trade for another set of rags, these most certainly made with cloth and buttons produced here as opposed to Africa.”

Now, Mycroft’s attention was focused as tightly as a cat that had spotted a mouse and his mind happily supplied the information that had sat waiting while Mycroft’s emotions had blocked everything else out of his awareness.

      “I… they’re… a chap gave these to me before I started towards the coast.  Englishman so English clothes.”

      “Why did you not send a telegram before you embarked?”

      “There wasn’t an office to send one.”

      “Somehow I doubt that.  Any port sufficiently sizeable to host ships traveling to and from England would certainly have a telegraph office.  Why, today, did you come to the kitchen door and not the front?  You are not a servant.”

John opened his mouth to stop Sherlock’s inquisition, then let the words die unspoken.  Greg was lying about something, that much was now evident and his recovery would depend on them knowing everything about his ordeal and experiences, both physical and mental.  Any information could be helpful and there were few better at extracting information from reluctant mouths than Sherlock.

      “I didn’t want… what would the neighbors think?  Bloke knocking on the front door with holes in his trousers.”

      “Lestrade, the explorer, would not have cared a whit and happily banged on the door with a crutch, loudly proclaiming his arrival in the most strident, and irritating, of tones.”

This time John laid a warning hand on Sherlock’s to caution a bit of gentleness in his interrogation.  It was abundantly clear Lestrade was quickly and worryingly becoming unsettled by the questions and… the man didn’t need further upset in his life.

      “T… told you.  Just didn’t want to make a fuss.”

      “Incorrect.  And, I suspect, that if we check the shipping schedule, the ship you boarded will not have arrived today in London, but at a time somewhat before that.  How far before?”

Greg’s breathing took on the specific pattern of someone wrestling mightily with a torrent of things, none of them good, and it drew Mrs. Hudson from her preparations to whisper in his ear, while Mycroft drew up his hand to kiss.  With Mrs. Hudson’s own kiss on his cheek, the explorer, sniffed back the sharpest edge of his distress, though his ‘two weeks’ came out as the faintest of whispers.

      “GREGORY!  Why… why did you not… come home?”

The horrified shock in Mycroft’s voice earned him his own dash back by Mrs. Hudson who, again, provided some whispering, this time rewarded by Mycroft looking at her with growing dread, before he turned that dread towards his lover.

      “Gregory?”

      “I…”

      “Please, my dear…”

      “I… I didn’t know if you’d still want me.”

Mycroft’s whole frame stiffened as he gazed in horror at the man who couldn’t meet his eyes and harrumphed a thunderous snort, pushed himself upright and stunned everyone but himself by snatching Lestrade out of his seat and carrying him out of the kitchen as easily as if he’d been carrying a doll.  The shocked silence in his wake served handily as riotous applause.

      “Well… I think Mr. Holmes has this well in hand.  Good for him taking a very direct approach.”

John and Sherlock stared at Mrs. Hudson and the resolute glint in her eye but, knowing her experience in such matters outstripped theirs by leaps and bounds, wisely didn’t comment.  However, Sherlock _did_ have something on his mind and now a good time to make that known.

      “John… I am sorry if I was too forceful with Lestrade.  I did not wish to cause him further pain.”

Smiling gently, John patted Sherlock’s hand and gave Mrs. Hudson a look that was easily interpretable as ‘more tea please.’

      “Sometimes, unfortunately, healing is painful.  Greg’s suffered a lot and is still suffering; any information we have now can help us see him recover as quickly and successfully as possible.  Maybe the questions could have waited until tomorrow, but… it was good that you got him to talk, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded and John could see the relief in his eyes.  His scientist-cum-detective had a good heart, a very good one, and was learning that it was alright to let it show, at least to the important ones in his life.

      “What now do we do?”

A question for which John desperately wished he had an answer, but he had a suspicion they’d have a little time to think because… it was highly doubtful Mycroft and Greg would be available for discussion anytime soon.

      “We… wait.  Right now, I suspect Mycroft will dig deeper into the issue and they’ll take time to… reacquaint, I suppose, is the right term.  Maybe we’ll see them for dinner, but I’d rather Greg just slept for a week or so, instead.  He seems like he needs it.”

      “I concur.  Would it… would it be inappropriate to… celebrate his return, even if Lestrade is not physically part of the celebration?”

John laughed and clapped his hands together, rubbing them excitedly and grinning widely at Sherlock.

      “It’s absolutely appropriate and we three can have our own celebration now while planning for a grander one later when Mycroft and Greg can participate.  Mrs. Hudson… what say we trade our tea for something more suitable for a party?”

      “I say Yes! and I know the perfect bottle or two in the cellar to do our Mr. Lestrade proud.”

The mood of the room began quickly to lighten as the most important aspect of today snapped back into focus.  Greg was back.  Regardless of his condition, he was alive and back with them.  Everything else was secondary to that and a celebration was certainly in order.  It was time to celebrate until they could celebrate no more… or the wine cellar ran dry…

__________

      “Mycroft!”

Greg tried to struggle against his lover, but Mycroft was (a) twice his body weight and (b) sporting the most determined expression the explorer had ever seen.  That didn’t stop him struggling, but it helped him feel not so defeated when he could not break Mycroft’s hold, which wasn’t loosened until Mycroft had Greg in the bath and set him carefully down on his feet.

      “I… I am assuming that you are feeling somewhat confused and it is… I expect… decidedly proven that one’s clarity of mind is related to one’s comfort.  We will address that to reestablish the incisiveness of your thinking.”

Unmindful of the soiling on Lestrade’s shirt, and pointedly refusing to reflect upon from where came the dirt and grime, Mycroft began unfastening buttons, stopping only when his lover took both his hands and squeezed.

      “Mycroft… don’t.”

      “Why not?  I cannot believe you would prefer a bath fully clothed.”

Lestrade glanced towards the tub, which… was not the one he remembered.

      “Ah… yes, I found need to, shall we say, enhance my bathing experience.”

Which, in Mycroft’s opinion had been precognitive, as his new bathing tub would easily host both his own expanded bulk and his dear Gregory which, precisely, was his plan.

      “Now, let us continue and you shall be much more comfortable once you are cleaned and shaved.  Mrs. Hudson has some experience with the cutting of hair, as well, having had to cut various bits out of Sherlock’s curls due to experiments gone awry, so I assume she will be able to tame you own rather virile mane to one that allows me better to see your… I have so longed to see again your eyes, my dear.”

Mycroft started on the buttons again, but, this time, Greg took a tottery step back and seemed to shrink away from his lover’s touch.

      “You… remember who I _was_.  That’s not me anymore.  The damage…”

      “Is immaterial.”

      “It’s not.  You haven’t seen…”

      “I have seen you, Gregory.  _You_.  You are not the skin you wear, nor the bones that support it.  You are the man who simply uses them as transport and that transport is _highly_ immaterial.  It is not your laugh or cleverness.  Certainly not your scampish ways that delight me so.  It is not your courage, your tenacity, your noble spirit… it is not the unflagging humor that has gladdened my own heart so very often when it was heavy.  I look at you, my beloved, and want to rage against what you have endured, but I do not rage against what my eyes are gifting me.  They are gifting me _you_ and that is all to me that matters.”

Stepping forward, Mycroft wrapped his arms around Lestrade and held him close, holding his calm as best he could for weeping would not help the man he loved at the moment and, instead, simply let his body provide whatever strength it could to the man who had lost so much of his.  Later on there would be time for such a thing, but, now, his Gregory required support and that is what would be given to his utmost ability.

Risking a slighter higher degree of intimacy, Mycroft reached down with finger and tipped up Lestrade’s chin, smiling in reassurance, as he leaned in and took his first kiss of his lover’s lips.  Just a small, chaste thing by intent, but he gleefully rejoiced in the fact that Lestrade continued it far longer than he had planned.

      “Will you trust me, Gregory?  Trust that I shall not disparage or scorn?  Trust that our love has never diminished in my heart and I regard you now with as much affection, desire and respect as have I ever?”

The slow nod took a moment to arrive, but arrive it did and Mycroft swiftly took advantage of it before his lover could allow, again, his worry to overcome him.  With the tattered jacket removed and the shirt taken from his form, Mycroft could see how terribly thin Lestrade had become, but firmly pressed into his own mind that this was a thing easily remedied.  Hearty, plentiful meals were Cook’s specialty and she would be profoundly willing to see his Gregory happily plumped back to his former level of flesh.

Uncaring how ungainly he appeared, Mycroft used the edge of the tub as support to get to his knees to remove Lestrade’s shoes and socks, then felt the wind knocked out of him seeing the explorer’s left foot.

      “Gregory… what has happened?”

Two toes were missing from the foot and Mycroft now began to fear what else he might find as he went further.

      “Infection.  They… nothing was stopping it, so… they took them to save the rest of my foot.  The doctor thought I might lose more, but… I suppose it was a form of luck that I only lost two.”

Lestrade shrugged resignedly and Mycroft swallowed hard to clamp down on the rising emotion.  Now was not for him… it was for his beloved.  The darkness in his Gregory’s eyes had returned in force and he must do what he could to rekindle the light.

      “I shall see my cordwainer designs for you shoes specific for your needs.  And, of course, they will look exquisite on you.”

Risking a look up at his explorer’s face, Mycroft breathed a mental sigh of relief that there was a flicker of a smile on Lestrade’s lips.

      “That’s… that’s the most important thing.”

      “But of course.  No man should ever be found in unflattering shoes.”

Taking another look at Lestrade’s foot, Mycroft felt his control waver again because he could not bear to contemplate his dear Gregory having to endure the, surely primitive, surgery used for the amputation, though it may have forestalled greater damage.  That made tending to Lestrade’s trousers a much more unsettling task and not even his iron will could hold back the small curse seeing his lover’s legs exposed to the unforgiving light.

      “It’s not a lovely sight, is it, Mycroft?  Not the strong, healthy legs you remember?”

Mycroft didn’t notice the slight swat he gave Lestrade to chide him for his words, because he was utterly transfixed by the sight before his eyes.  The scarring from the burns was prominent and it was only now he noticed that his Gregory’s left leg did not precisely… align correctly.

      “And this, my dear… tell me the tale.”

      “What is there to tell?  Caught scalding pipes on my legs.  The right one… it hurt inside as if the bone was broken, but maybe not because it worked enough to help me find people.  The left… it had… it was…”

      “The damage was more severe.”

      “Yeah.  Not one break, either, but several.  And it got twisted somehow… it didn’t heal very properly.”

Mycroft nodded as if he was agreeing, but it was more to keep the sinking of his heart from showing on his face.  His Gregory was a wildly vigorous man and this would surely hinder that, even when he was fed back to health.  Nevertheless… it was inconsequential.  Instead of racing about, he would have to walk, perhaps with his crutches or, with time, a cane.  He would be able to do as he pleased, go where he pleased, enjoy his passions… albeit at a slower, more measured pace.  Mycroft Holmes had so decided and, therefore, so it would be.

      “Perhaps not, but… I will speak with John… _we_ will speak with John on the issue.  I know he is an advocate of exercise to promote strength and health, so he may have suggestions for steps we might take to assist you regaining more normal motion.  Walks or calisthenics, perhaps.  Both as a doctor and a military man, he has surely a measure of experience with this sort of thing and he will devote his most forceful attention to the subject, I have no doubt.  At the very worst, I shall hire men to port you about in a palanquin as you go about your day.  A smaller example shall be available for interior spaces.”

He had feared so greatly he would never again hear his Gregory’s laughter, but this thinner, quieter version was the most beautiful sound to ever grace Mycroft’s ears.

      “That’s not a bad idea.”

Risking more, especially with his Gregory’s naked body standing there, inciting certain feelings despite its altered form, Mycroft reached up and around to caress the explorer’s much-diminished rump.

      “And the finest, plumpest cushions shall make your journey a comfortable one, even after your own cushion has regained its grandeur.”

This smile, more than any before it, resembled the one his Gregory normally sported and Mycroft’s mind danced with joy that his pitiful attempts were succeeding.  At least, to some small degree, his Gregory’s distress was cracking and that was a powerful victory.  His love would need time, much time, love and care, to move forward from this terrible point, but this tiny step gave him hope that the moving forward _would_ occur.

      “Never… never could keep your hands off my arse.  Once they, finally got on it, that is.”

      “I am an ardent admirer of beauty and what in the world could be more beautiful.  Except your smile.  The curve of your shoulder.  The scent of your skin when you first wake in the morning…”

Seeing his love’s eyes begin to fill again, Mycroft heaved himself off the floor and took Lestrade once more in his arms.

      “I love you, my dear.  I despaired… I truly despaired when I believed you were lost to me.  I think… I think I hoped to follow you to a place we could be together again so great was my loss.  You see yourself as a lesser specimen presented to my view, but that could not be further from the truth.  My desire for you is as untarnished and potent as is my love and, as soon as you are comfortable and well-fed, I shall demonstrate that to you so you may lose any lingering doubt.  Everything we have come to prize, our nights in the library with a fire and a brandy, dancing together to one of my recordings, celebrating our love in the physical nature I came so powerfully to crave… that is what, again, we shall have.  Do not think otherwise, Gregory, not for an instant.”

Holding Lestrade while he released another dark bout of emotion, Mycroft let his mind wander to the future and what it might hold for this man.  It would be his honor and privilege to make that future as successful a one as possible, though it was a near certainty that his Gregory could not return to the life of an explorer.  He would, therefore, work to find challenging, rewarding work for the man he loved, who thrived both on activity and leading a productive life.  Lounging at home would not suit his lover in the slightest and unquestionably lead his mind in dark directions, so the issue was one of significant importance for Gregory’s well-being.

      “I… I worried, Mycroft.  So very terribly.”

Hating, almost above all else, how greatly reduced was his partner’s confidence, Mycroft simply placed a kiss on Lestrade’s head and loosened their embrace to meet the explorer’s eyes before slowly moving him towards the wash stand to use as support while he began to join in the spirit of the moment by getting undressed and starting the tub to fill.

      “Hold fast, my dear, for I do not wish to summon John to manage a fractured skull.  I suspect he, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson have begun a raucous celebration for your return and if two of my finest bottles of wine have not already met their demise, then I shall be greatly surprised.”

Adoring that his Gregory smiled again, this time at the thought of being the impetus for their revelry, Mycroft lost the last of his garments and moved close to hold Lestrade against his naked skin.

      “Do you see, Gregory?  You still fill my arms most cozily and our forms fit together as if they were carved by craftsmen to do so.”

Lestrade hardly noticed the small contented noises he made as he nestled into Mycroft’s embrace and rested his cheek against his Holmes’s skin, but Mycroft did, and it made his spirits soar.

      “Now, I shall get into the bath and eagerly await your joining me.”

Waiting until Lestrade was supported by the rim of the tub, Mycroft entered the tub and lowered himself into the water, humming happily at the warmth and that his prediction of space was correct.  His Gregory would fit quite handily, reclining against his chest.

      “Come, my dear.  I will help.”

Slowly making his way into the high-edged tub, Lestrade fondly remembered his Mycroft’s burly strength as he held the explorer firmly to prevent any slippage or a fall.

      “There… shall you deny this is somewhat a glorious way to bathe?”

The explorer’s chuckling rumbled against Mycroft’s body and he kissed Lestrade’s neck, ignoring the sweat-crusted dirt.

      “If I remember, _I_ was the one who first suggested it.”

      “That you did and now we see your suggestion come to pass.  It took an excruciatingly-long time for me to reach that level of comfort with things such as this, but… I never again want to find myself without.  I would ask, though, now that we are alone… what was in your mind, Gregory, when you arrived in London?  To be home, yet unwilling to _seek_ your home with me and those we claim as family?”

Reaching up to gently rub his partner’s tense shoulders, Mycroft waited patiently for a response and was not surprised to wait more than a small moment.

      “I… I know you’ve always valued my appearance.  Not to the exclusion of other things, but that was the first spark of our fire.  And that I am… was… a strong, robust man.  You took pride having me on your arm, even… even if we could only present as friends.  I don’t know… I don’t know how much of that I can regain.  I’ll always have trouble walking, never have the swagger I once could boast… that won’t be me anymore.  You deserve that, though… deserve a strong, unmarked man at your side.”

Knowing beforehand he would dislike Lestrade’s response did not make that response any easier for Mycroft to bear.

      “You are stronger than any I have known, Gregory.  What you survived, with no tools but your will and your wits… a pitiful few could hope to accomplish that and return in anything but a coffin.  Yes, your physical potency attracted me, attracted me greatly, but had I not been mesmerized by the quickness of your mind, your bold nature and your limitless humor, I have no faith we would have found our love.  Had you been boorish, vapid or tedious… your beauty would not have been sufficient to captivate me beyond the fleeting flare of physical admiration.  And what concern is it that you require an aid to walk or that you move slower than once you did?  Would you view a soldier returned from battle in a distasteful light?  Of course not.  You would focus on their valor, their sacrifice and that is my focus here, with you.  Besides… it is not as if you and I will spend our years clambering among the branches of the oaks or chasing butterflies across the fields.  I daresay the slowest of their caterpillars could outstrip my fastest pace.”

There.  His lover’s schoolboy giggle.  The sound of the angels.

      “I shall never know the depth or breadth of what you experienced, my dear, but we shall speak often of it so I might gain greater understanding and you understand better, perhaps, why I see only my dearest Gregory here with me.  You… you paid visit, though, did you not?  Here, I mean.  You knew, for instance, that John had survived the disaster.”

Mycroft hoped the small nod he received would not be the entirety of his answer and was relieved to learn it was not.

      “I did.  I’ve… I’ve been sleeping where I can and… yeah, I would come here and watch from time to time.  See the comings and goings… try and catch sight of you through a window.  I saw John the second time I came here and… I thought my heart would burst!  There he was… alive and healthy… I’d thought so many, many times that he’d met his death in the water, but… it wasn’t true.”

Mycroft didn’t need to see his explorer to know there was water again on his cheeks and this was perfectly fine.  Men were not supposed to weep, it was a sign of weakness, of poor character, but that was balderdash.  To shed tears for such overwhelming sensations… only a man lacking a soul could fail to do so.

      “Yet you did not approach him.”

      “No… he was with Sherlock and… they looked so _happy_.  Dashing off together, smiling and self-assured… how could I destroy that?”

Mycroft’s immediate reply was bitten back as he reminded himself that his lover’s frame of mind and perceptions were not his own and, further, somewhat impaired at present.

      “You wished to, shall we say, leave them with smiles on their faces.”

      “Yes!  And… it looked… it seemed as if…”

A small light went on in Mycroft’s mind and he sighed softly.

      “They had moved ahead with their lives?  Perhaps… putting you out of their minds.”

This sigh wasn’t Mycroft’s and certainly wasn’t soft.

      “Yes.  And, if that was true… what right did I have to interfere?  To intrude on that happiness and the new life they seemed to be forming?”

      “Every right, for they love you and have missed you with a pain that remained until you set foot again in this house.  They never forgot you, my love, never believed their lives whole without you in it.  They have forged ahead, that is true and I will in no manner chide them for it, but that is perfectly possible even when one mourns a loss as terrible as we believed yours.  May I… what finally prompted you to make yourself known?”

Another period of silence greeted Mycroft, which he busily filled with lathering his hands to run across Lestrade’s frame.

      “I started to… get bolder.  Move closer to, maybe, gain some stories, some news… I heard Mrs. Hudson telling Mrs. Turner that she was terribly worried about you.  That she feared for your health… last night I crept to the window of your study and risked looking in.”

      “And… you did not enjoy what you saw.”

      “I didn’t enjoy that you looked so sad.   That there wasn’t any life in you.  You looked the same and completely different at the same time and… if only to try and take the sadness from your eyes, I knew I had to risk knowing for certain whether you still wanted me in your life, given what you’d see when you first saw me.  Maybe it would break my heart, but if you looked at me and gained some peace knowing I wasn’t worth your pain, then I would take the heartbreak gladly.  I couldn’t bear to see you so sorrowful, Mycroft… I simply couldn’t.”

Mycroft kissed Lestrade’s freshly-washed shoulder and marveled again at the man to whom he was eternally devoted.  Gregory spoke of strength, but failed to recognize the incomparable strength required to offer one’s heart for breaking to benefit another.

      “Then I am gladdened to know my melancholy was, ultimately, useful.  My life without you seemed empty, burdensome and I behaved deplorably to those I hold dear.  But, if that was the impetus for your revealing yourself, then I shall consider the apologies and amends I must make a ridiculously-small price to pay.”

      “I’ll help you with them, because I have my own to offer.  I can’t… I can’t say I’m sorry I didn’t race here when the ship docked, but I _am_ sorry for any additional hurt that caused.”

      “You are without any blame, Gregory, do not let that weigh on your mind.  First and foremost of concern is your well-being and… perhaps you were not ready to rejoin us.  Perhaps you needed time to, again, become accustomed to the world you remembered and reconcile yourself to becoming part of it again.  I know your worries, my dear, or, at least, some of the villains, and it is not unreasonable that time was needed to make them sufficiently manageable to weather the past thrusting itself back upon you.  Ours is not what one would term a placid household and that was surely a daunting prospect to face, majesty of my stature, notwithstanding.”

Lestrade sat up slightly and turned his head, smirking at the expected smug look on his Mycroft’s face, then reclined once more and wriggled back to his very comfortable position.  Maybe his lover was correct.  It had been… the thought of stepping across the threshold had been terrifying and he had felt wildly unprepared for either the first meeting or… finding his path back into the life he had worn before they set sail from England.  A _set_ of circumstances, then… the necessary level of courage and the fuse of his Mycroft’s visible agony all acting to set him in motion.  That painted him in somewhat a kinder light than he, himself, believed, but… he could grow to believe it, especially if his Mycroft championed the idea.  The man was a genius after all.

      “Your stature _is_ majestic, Mr. Holmes.  Thought that the moment I clapped eyes on you and that’s never changed.”

Though both men knew it was especially majestic at present, but that would remain unremarked upon unless Mycroft found his own courage to bring the matter forth, though Mycroft was feeling his first glimmer of desire to face the problem with anything approaching honesty.  Perhaps only with Gregory might he truly express his anguish and the black thoughts that had lived in his mind and dictated his behaviors, but that was more than audience enough.  As his love would share, so would he and there would be time, so very, very much time, to take up sword to begin slaying their demons… they had a lifetime together to fill, didn’t they?  Of course they did… a long, long lifetime to fill…


	37. Chapter 37

_Shhhh…. it is alright, Gregory…_

Mycroft gently urged the sleeping body back into his embrace and wrapped his large arms around the explorer who was suffering another nightmare and smiled that, as it had twice before this night, his physical presence calmed his lover’s mind so his suffering eased.  They had taken to bed directly after their bath and talked for some time until his lover drifted off to a sleep that seemed restful only when he had contact with the flesh of the one who was devoted to protecting this dear man with every tool he possessed.

And _flesh_ it was, as his Gregory had not balked taking to bed naked so their heat could easily be shared.  For the clime from which he had returned and the terrible fever he had suffered, it was surprising that his love desperately desired the bountiful heat this substantial body produced, but if Gregory desired heat, then heat he would have.  A fire burning fully in every room, as well as clothes, which he would order this very day, that provided a wealth of soothing warmth and blocked from view some measure of his love’s wasted frame.  Soon, they would rise and there would be hot beverages and a filling breakfast… yes, that was his mission from this point forward.  Cataloging the various needs of the man in his arms and seeing those needs met and as royally as Gregory would permit.

Then… conversation must be had on the revealing of his love’s existence to the RGS and remainder of the world.  One cannot remain dead and be seen strolling about London like a phantasm, however, his dear Gregory surely did not need to be descended upon by the astonished masses at this delicate time.  There would be bank accounts to restore, death records to be negated, a tomb inscription to be removed or amended… so many little things would accompany his love’s resurrection, but he would happily tend to them while Gregory focused on nothing but his own well-being.  Yes… time in the countryside was the very thing for the moment.  Mummy would be overwhelmed simply to know _he_ was choosing to come to visit; best not reveal Gregory’s attendance just yet or the poor woman might faint dead away…

      “M… Mycroft?”

The slightly confused tone of the explorer’s voice ignited every protective instinct in Mycroft’s being and he wrapped the explorer as fully as possible in a shroud of warm flesh and soothing words.

      “Yes, Gregory, you are here, with me.  Very safe and very sound.”

Feeling Lestrade’s reach up to grab his arm as leverage to press even tighter into his hold, Mycroft hummed softly as his lover breathed deeply a few seconds then relaxed from his tensed state.

      “I… I dreamt about this often.  Sometimes a real dream, sometimes a fever dream, but I was in your arms… and then I’d wake alone and in pain, not knowing if I’d even survive to have a chance for this again.  I thought I was dreaming once more.”

      “Perfectly understandable, my dear.  I, too, dreamt of you here with me and awoke distraught that such was not the case.  For a man who lived his life content with only myself as a bedmate, I… I was exceedingly disturbed to find suddenly that was, again, the case.”

      “Is… is that why we’re not in _your_ bed?”

Something Mycroft remembered only after he’d gotten his lover comfortable in this new bed and had not the heart to either relocate or face the conversation they were now to have.

      “Yes.  I could not lie in our bed, Gregory, not without you.  I locked the door when it was clear you were forever lost to me and this has been my bedroom since that moment.  This, you see, was not ours.  It was not graced by your memory, which was far too difficult for me to bear.”

      “You… you wanted to forget me?”

The near-anguish in his lover’s voice pained Mycroft miserably, but he knew that truth was the most respectful token he could offer Lestrade at this moment in time.

      “No, Gregory… not precisely, though the situation is not a simple one.  It was simply too devastating to be in a place that I had come to view entirely as ours.  If you were not here, then that place could not exist.  It could not host me, for it was not mine alone.  But, I will not lie and say that I did not try to remove the reminders of you from my life.  The pain, the unbearable ache when your name was mentioned or a thing precious to us was seen or heard… I structured my surroundings to be as sterile and lifeless as possible, for that ensured your vitality and the memory of our joy would not touch me.  It was the only manner by which I could function.  I did not wish to forget, Gregory… I simply could not go on if you were there with me in any form but that which is now in my embrace.”

Lestrade lay quietly a moment then nodded his head slightly, making Mycroft’s heart sing.

      “I understand, I suppose.  You thought I was dead… I knew you were alive and I… I did everything I could to remember you.  Wrote letters, even.  Lots of them… though I never intended they be posted, not that it would be easy to do so, in any case.”

      “Do you still possess them?”

      “Yes… well, perhaps I do.  I have a small pack I hid before I came inside the house.  I… I didn’t know if I was staying and… if I needed to move quickly, or as quickly as I can, it would have been an impediment.  Someone could have stolen it by now, though.”

      “We see little theft due to a rather notable presence by the local constabulary, so there is every chance your belongings remain where they were deposited.  That can be our first order of business after we rise.  If you permit… I would like to read your letters.  I would hope to know your thoughts from that time.”

      “Some don’t make much sense, but you’re welcome to read them, if you choose.  They’re… they couldn’t be too personal because I could never be certain they weren’t being read when I was sleeping or feverish, but they made me feel close to you, even if I could only address them to ‘my dear friend, Mycroft.’  I couldn’t destroy them or leave them behind.”

      “It is a chronicle, Gregory, and one that shall be valuable to you in the coming years.  Your experience was harrowing in the extreme, but it is a clear testament to your strength and courage.  It is one to be remembered, rather than sent into the far depths of your mind.”

And I will not dwell upon the hypocrisy of my words, as I did my utmost to hurl you into that very place with every bit of will in my possession.

      “If they’ve not been stolen, then we can read them together, what say?  I’ll… I’ll do what I can to tell you what I remember from when I was writing them.  What I really wanted to say or what I hoped you’d read that was hidden in the words.”

      “I would cherish that, Gregory.  I am proud of you, my dear, and crave all evidence that boasts your valor and worth.”

      “You flatter me.”

      “With every opportunity made available.”

Slowly turning to lay on his back, Lestrade let his loosely-held emotions roll through him and used the gentle smile on his lover’s lips as an anchor to keep those emotions from spilling out onto his cheeks, though Mycroft was well aware of his struggle.

      “I love you, Gregory.  Do not hesitate to let your feelings show.  Not here, not when we are alone together.”

      “I… I’m tired, Mycroft.”

      “Then take more rest, my love.”

      “No… I mean, I’m tired of feeling so… weak.”

      “I do not view it as weakness, my dear.  I know it is not what society would say, but… damn society and its ridiculous rules.  One day, very soon, you will not feel the grip of these feelings so profoundly and they will be more manageable, but now… now let them dance, Gregory.  I know little of these things, but, the value of laughter for promoting good health and spirits is frequently touted… perhaps the effect is not only restricted to mirthful emotions.  If one feels laughter and expresses it not, then one suffers; why is that not the case here?”

Turning again, this time to face his lover and bury his face in Mycroft’s neck as he hugged him fiercely, Lestrade breathed deeply of Mycroft’s scent to calm the new surge of emotion that rose in him.  His lover was indescribable.  If it wasn’t for Mycroft… he may not have had the will to continue the struggle, let alone to return here to London.  So many horrid days and nights were made bearable by the thought that his Mycroft would be so terribly disappointed if he did not fight with all his might against the ills that beset him.  That his lover deserved his fiercest battle and that was what he would wage with every ounce of effort he had.  And this wonderful man who had inspired him to live when, some days he wanted otherwise, welcomed him back as eagerly as if he had returned whole and hearty…

      “I refuse to argue, since you’re the smartest man in England.  What would be the point?”

      “Most true.  Save your vitality for something far more challenging.”

      “Like rising?”

      “That does pose a challenge today, I do admit.  I have not experienced so comfortable a morning since your departure.”

      “Could we… tonight, could we…”

      “We shall sleep this coming night in _our_ bed, Gregory.  I will direct Mrs. Hudson to ensure the room is properly aired and cleaned to welcome us when we retire.”

      “Perfect.  But… I just thought of something…”

      “Yes?”

      “I don’t actually have any clothes beyond the extra shirt in my pack and it’s as filthy as the one Mrs. Hudson likely binned after our bath.”

Hoping his ears had not deceived him, since his housekeeper took pains to make her activities known, Mycroft smiled gently and gave his explorer a soft kiss that did nothing to encourage either man out of the bed, though Mycroft bravely pushed through the coziness to move from the bed and open the bedroom door a crack.

      “Behold!  What appears to be… yes, a very suitable set of garments from Sherlock’s wardrobe and your crutches.  I daresay Mrs. Hudson realized your situation when she tidied the bath and found your clothes remaining behind.”

      “I remember a Mycroft Holmes who would have fainted if I’d even _suggested_ walking unclothed through the halls of his home.”

      “A very silly man.  Besides, your freshly-washed skin should not, for any reason including propriety, be insulted by cloth that is more dirt than fibers.”

      “The dirt makes them especially warm, though.”

      “I shall file that information away in case it ever is needed.  Now, my dear… shall we dress and take breakfast?  Then, I am most certain Doctor Watson will want to examine you, should you allow it.”

      “Breakfast!  Oh, that’s going to be a grand thing.  And… yeah, John is going to want to look over the carnage and I don’t blame him for that.  Won’t change anything, but it’ll settle his mind a bit.”

There was a wistful sadness in his Gregory’s voice, but that voice was stronger today than yesterday and less threaded with fear, hesitancy and doubt, so the wistfulness would happily go unremarked.

      “He will appreciate your cooperation.  Here, let me help you from the bed…”

      “I can do it, love.”

      “The bed is higher, I suspect, than you remember and I can neither vouch for the security of the rugs nor the foot-safety of the floor.  I shudder to think what will happen if you have a misstep.  Will you humor me this single time?”

Adoring that Lestrade made a dramatic show of thinking then thrusting his arms into the air, much as a child in its crib, Mycroft made his most serious harrumph and stepped around to assist the explorer who quickly discovered that Mycroft’s warnings had not been in vain.

      “I have you, my dear.”

      “That will take some growing accustomed to.  I’ve been on the ground or what amounts to a cot for what seems like an eternity and I did forget these posh beds are designed to raise you above the rats and rabble.”

      “Our bed is somewhat lower and I shall discuss with Mrs. Hudson what might be done to make entering and exiting a safer thing to accomplish.  Though, with nourishment and proper care, I suspect you will more easily find your footing, given the growth of the muscular elements.”

      “I hope so.  I know… the doctors said the left leg might always have weakness, beyond the twisty-turny and toes aspect.  I’m going to be confident, though, and that should help.”

      “Undoubtedly.  Though, I shall be most happy to hold your body to provide sturdiness whenever it is required.  As well as tend to your dressing, bathing, shaving…”

      “I won’t need one of those valet chaps with you in the house, will I?”

It was not the widest of openings, but it would do.

      “In _this_ house, perish the thought.  However… I was hoping we might leave London and spend time at Mummy’s, where a valet will surely step in to fill that role.  Would you enjoy that, Gregory?  A measure of time where it is quiet and lovely?  You did appear to treasure your time in the country and I again would offer that to you so you are not subject to the bustle of London and feel no obligation to, say, reveal your continued existence to the public, who will surely hound you for your tale in the most demanding of ways.”

The widened eyes told Mycroft his lover had somewhat forgotten about that particular aspect of his return.

      “Oh… that sounds… I can’t say I’m not suddenly rather _excited_ about the prospect of those demanding ways, but… not now?  Maybe another few days or a week… Your mum’s house does appeal, though.  I have very fond memories of us there and I can’t say I wouldn’t enjoy some time to simply… do nothing.  For all the nothing I did in Africa, I find myself wanting a touch more that I can actually enjoy.”

      “Then you shall have all you desire.  And, when you are prepared, we shall pay visit to the RGS and allow your return to be known.  I have no doubt you shall, once again, be the toast of London.”

The shyly-pleased smile on Lestrade’s face warmed Mycroft’s heart nicely as he slotted another item into his lover’s ledger to brighten his thoughts and encourage his healing.  His Gregory did so adore being the center of attention and had surely believed that he would never again address an audience and regale them with his tales of adventure.  Given _this_ tale was the most enthralling of all, there would certainly be a legion of finely-dressed men and women begging for seats to hear him recount his exploits.  And these would earn dear Gregory a tidy sum for under no circumstances would he give his lecture solely to benefit the RGS.  Let them have a few crumbs if they made sufficient an apology and treated his Gregory with respect and regard appropriate for his suffering.  If not… crumbs would be the least of their concerns…

__________

Though the clothes were both too long and too loose, Mycroft proudly escorted his lover downstairs, maintaining a neutral face as they met the rather substantial challenge of negotiating the stairs and felt no small measure of relief that neither John nor Sherlock barraged his lover with a deluge of questions, settling instead on sharing the meal with only gentle conversation and compassionate questions about his Gregory’s welfare.  When the meal ended and John, as expected, requested a chance to examine the damage, Sherlock and Mycroft took to the library to sit and wait for their respective partners to reappear.

      “Those are my clothes.”

      “Yes, brother, and your loan of them is duly appreciated.”

      “My loan was not voluntary, but I shall let that pass for now.  I take it you will provide Lestrade with his own garments.  Garments which actually fit his frame?”

      “I shall tend to that today.  He will need a selection of suitable items as we shall depart for Mummy’s, I believe, tomorrow at the latest.”

Sherlock’s eyes grew large, but the rather volcanic objection didn’t erupt as Mycroft had predicted.

      “So soon… is Lestrade sufficiently fit to travel?”

      “He managed a sea voyage in what were certainly disturbing conditions and lived as a pauper these last two weeks on the streets of London.  I believe a comfortable carriage for a moderate train excursion shall not pose much threat to his tenuous health.”

Though I thank you, brother, from the bottom of my shriveled heart for having such concern for my dearest Gregory’s welfare.

      “He also was forced to suffer your elephantine bulk for an entire night and that surely reduced any number of the bones in his body to powder.”

      “Amusing, Sherlock.  For your information, Gregory found my elephantine bulk most comfortable and calming.”

      “Perhaps he thought you were a roast.  I suspect he has had little to eat besides roots, nuts and offal for the past half-year and a proper roast would be a great balm to his starving body, as well as spirit.”

      “Dear me, that would explain the small bite marks I found on my arm when I woke.  Well, I know what I will instruct Mummy’s cook to prepare for our arrival dinner.  I would hate for Gregory’s hungers to take a more forceful turn for he would be most aggrieved, I feel, to wake to find his mouth filled with raw flesh and not a succulent and well-prepared morsel of tender beef.”

Mycroft thought his jest was, at least, moderately snort-worthy, so was somewhat confused by the intense scrutiny he was receiving from his brother.

      “Sherlock?”

      “You are talking.”

      “Is that a conundrum?”

      “It is… unusual.  You… you have not talked much of late.  Certainly not in jest.”

Mycroft sighed and nodded, highly surprised his brother raised the topic, but now that it was in the light, there was no reason to shove it back into the dark.

      “In that, you are correct and you have my deepest, most sincere apologies for it.  I know you likely felt your efforts at… buoying my spirits, reaching into the depths where I dwelled and offering me a rope to bring me out of my anguish, to be utterly useless.  Scorned, even.  That could not be further from the truth.  Your words and gestures, Sherlock, were never useless, never held in my contempt… they were the only hooks, at times, that kept me from slipping further into those depths to a level that… I daresay from which I never would have found strength to rise again.  I have not treated you well, brother, and I grieve for that, but do not feel your efforts were in vain.  They were not.  They were, in fact, both recognized and treasured.”

Sherlock’s glare had become an emotion-camouflaging scowl that Mycroft saw through with ease, much to his great contentment.  Another laud he could lay at his lover’s feet… through Gregory’s influences, the relationship he shared with his brother had grown and so, so much for the better.

      “Of course.  My mollycoddling was sure to have benefit, since I did so in the most scientific and efficient manner possible.”

      “Another aspect that has my deepest appreciation.”

      “I suppose if we are departing for the country, I should prepare my luggage with the experiments I wish to conduct on the hives.  I have some specific ideas on the influence of color on the seasonal variations in hive population and will put those to the test.  John is anxious to assist.”

Making certain that the ‘we’ traveling to Mummy’s includes Doctor Watson.  Fear not, brother dear, where you go, your John will always be welcome to follow.

      “I have no doubt.  Now, I have matters to coordinate so that we might depart tomorrow, as hoped.  Mrs. Hudson will certainly appreciate as much warning as possible.”

      “John and I must collect certain supplies from Bart’s.  He will purchase for her a bottle of gin.  That should be sufficient to silence any unseemly squawking.”

Sherlock’s social skills were progressing by leaps and bounds.

      “A most worthy plan and I shall provide the funds so John is not unduly drained of resources.  Shall you be in your laboratory?”

      “Yes.”

      “Very well.  I will speak with you further after I finalize our travel plans.”

Sherlock immediately darted up the stairs before the conversation had opportunity to take another emotional turn though he felt oddly relieved and grateful for his brother’s confession.  He _had_ tried… tried harder and more passionately that he dreamed he could and… it was helpful.  It was not all for naught.  Even if Lestrade had not returned he may never have had to face Mummy and break the news that her eldest son mourned himself into his grave.  He had done many things in his life, many highly important things, but this one… this one felt more rewarding than most…

__________

      “A…all of this?”

Mycroft smiled at his explorer’s dismay at the quantity and diversity of garments delivered for his use and took the man gently in his arms while Lestrade continued to ogle the treasure of fabric.

      “You have, as you noted, no clothing, my dear.  For a gentleman in London, this is minimum required for suitable comfort and presentation.  And, before you ask, Mrs. Hudson had a free hand to make the purchases, so calling your bounty into question will certainly be dealt with harshly.  I would not be at all surprised if she mistook your dinner plate for Toby’s bowl and failed to rectify her error, no matter the degree of your tearful pleading.”

      “Yes, but… all of this?  It’s… it’s so handsome…”

      “A perfect complement for you, my dear.”

      “But… Mycroft, I don’t know… I have no idea how I can pay for this!”

Squeezing his love tighter and placing a small kiss on his cheek, Mycroft reminded himself that Lestrade was not his wife, who would expect to be provided with her belongings, but a man who would expect to pay for what he gains, and, further, work to gain that pay.

      “At present, my dear Gregory, your finances are somewhat nebulous, I do admit, but we shall see them restored and we will discuss most seriously the issue of gaining for you useful and profitable work.  For the moment, however, do let me indulge you, even if it is only to soothe something in myself that desperately desires to shower you in gifts for your return to my arms.  If it pleases you, you may recompense me when you find employ.  I find your choice of sweets particularly strategic and will happily take my payment in chocolate and toffee.”

Lestrade laughed and felt some of his anxious pride fade away.  Mycroft was right, of course, he had no means now to provide for himself and would have to rely on his lover until that changed.  If the situation were reversed, he’d unquestionably insist on doing the same for Mycroft, so there was no reason to feel odd about receiving the help he needed.  It was just… he needed so much in the way of help now, it was becoming difficult to contemplate it…

      “Gregory?”

      “What?  Oh, sorry… I’ve become somewhat used to living in my own thoughts and forget that I’m not saying them aloud.  I’ll happily bring you sweets every day, the finest there are.  And… thank you, love.  The clothes truly are the handsomest I’ve seen and, I must say, it’ll be nice to have something that’s mine.  It seems a lifetime since that’s been the case.”

      “Well, then… pursuant to that line of thought…”

Mycroft released Lestrade’s body and stepped towards the wardrobe against the far wall of their once-again bedroom and extracted a small object from a low drawer.

      “My flask!”

Pressing the beloved object into the explorer’s hands, Mycroft gazed a moment at the bright shine in Lestrade’s eyes and the way his body quivered happily, despite being supported by crutches.

      “When I locked this room, I locked it exactly as it was and neither took nor added anything to the tableau.  I am happy to be able to return this to its rightful owner.”

      “Oh, Mycroft… this is… thank you.  Truly, thank you.”

For what Mycroft was realizing was the only thing in the world his beloved had to his name besides the odd bits in his battered pack.  The few belongings his lover owned either left with him to Africa or were disposed of by the RGS after his ‘death.’  Some, however, such as his journals and drawings were kept and those his love could see returned to him after his situation was made known.  It was a small thing, but it would mean the world to the man he loved.

      “You are most welcome.  And with John’s pronouncement of health, I would say we have plentiful reason to celebrate.  A warm fire and a warmer whisky, perhaps?”

The small smile that touched Lestrade’s lips made Mycroft somewhat giddy, because it was wondrously apparent that John’s opinion had both reassured and gladdened his dear explorer.  No, there was no help to be found for the scarring or resulting problems from the broken bones, but the muscular weakness was likely to be remedied to a degree with good nutrition and careful exercise.  In time, John was confident the crutches would give way to a walking stick, which his Gregory would sport most attractively.  And, for movement about the house, it may not be required at all.

      “That’s a suggestion I could kiss but, since I can’t, I’ll kiss you, instead.”

Something Lestrade eagerly did and nearly shamed himself with the happy noises he made while doing it.  The feel of Mycroft’s beard against his skin, the taste of his lips and the unexcelled feeling of the man’s body in his arms… it was beyond compare.

      “My soul soars, lifting its voice to the heavens so all might know my joy.”

      “You started reading poetry while I was away, Mycroft Holmes?”

      “No, but I believe I shall employ a poet to begin a book of verses dedicated to you, my dear.  It seems only fitting as the drivel offered to the masses has not a whit of the romance and devoted love that our union boasts.”

      “Which one of us is going to be the woman?”

      “Ah… yes, there is that to consider.  You did remark, I believe, that I would present well in a gown, did you not?”

Lestrade’s laugh was full and hearty, gaining his lover’s rumbly chuckle in response, which made the explorer beam with delight.

      “I did!  And I stand by that opinion, too.  You can be my beautiful bride and I’ll be the ridiculous, needs a good spouse to keep him in line groom.”

      “An excellent suggestion.  We can further craft our plan as we relax.  Let me help you, as I know the stairs are treacherous.”

      “One day they won’t be.”

The definitive tone in Lestrade’s voice was precisely what Mycroft longed to hear and he nodded in somber agreement before escorting the explorer out of the bedroom and cautiously down the stairs.  At the bottom, however, instead of towards the library, Lestrade turned towards the conservatory and began to move in that direction.

      “Gregory?”

      “Just want to see how my gift is faring, love.  I hope… I hope it was some comfort to you while I was… away.”

The race between one very large man and one on crutches was as cumbersome as one might imagine, but it was a race Mycroft was determined to win.  Fortunately, for both he and Lestrade, someone was faster still.

      “Hold yourself a moment, gentlemen, and let me unlock the door.  Toby’s been a mischief today and I had to lock the door to keep him from paying a visit.  Bugger’s learned to nudge the knob to get it to open and I’m tired of seeing him there standing proudly over whatever mess he’s caused that I have to clean.  Here… all ready for you.”

Mrs. Hudson waved off Mycroft’s panicked stare and moved aside so Lestrade could enter to see his beloved space.

      “It’s amazing!  Really, it looks even better than I remember!  And… oh…  they’re growing!”

Moving towards a special set of pots, the explorer grinned widely and failed to notice Mycroft’s astonishment in the utterly beautiful state of the room.

      “My seeds and bulbs!  Oh, I feared so greatly they wouldn’t do well, but they are!  Just one or two look a bit weedy, but… that’s one of those omens, I just know it is.  They’re alive and well, so _I’m_ alive and well.  Favor for a favor… oh, that makes me happy, it really does.”

Following Mrs. Hudson’s ‘get down here you tall git’ gesture, Mycroft leaned in for the housekeeper’s whispering.

      “If you think I was going to let his gift, his hard work from the bottom of his heart, die an unremarked death, you’re idiotic.  Kept it up, I did, and now you can go over there and take the credit so your Mr. Gregory stays happy.  I’ll remind Sherlock and Doctor Watson not to speak the truth on this, because nothing needs to take that smile off his face.  Nothing at all.”

With a pointed glare, the housekeeper left the conservatory and Mycroft vowed that a jubilant rise in pay was to be added to the household budget for the person who seemed best capable of managing their family, even when that family made some astounding poor errors in judgement.

      “You are content, my dear?”

      “I am.  I really did fear, you know, that you’d let it go to ruin again.  I saw how much joy it gave you and the thought of your losing that… it broke my heart.  But… this is perfect.  And with our little African plants showing their stalwart selves to the world… I’m glad Mrs. Hudson keeps an eye on Toby, because I do _not_ want to contemplate what a big lad like him would do to these delicate babes…”

A _very_ jubilant rise in pay…

      “Mrs. Hudson does take pride, I believe, in maintaining this room, owing much to its connection to you.  I daresay, without her vigilance, the sheer majesty of this setting would not gleam so brightly.”

An easily-spoken truth.  That I was prepared to see all go to dust and decay shall remain a gladly-shared domestic secret.  One to accompany the gladly-shared domestic secret that this room _was_ being maintained all the while, without my notice…

      “I’ll thank her for that.  Do you… could we have our whisky in here?  The fire needs a bit of a poke, but it’s going and with some candles as the night grows darker…”

      “Absolutely, my dear.  In fact, make yourself comfortable on the sofa and I shall fetch the whisky and glasses.”

Seeing his explorer comfortable, Mycroft held up an ‘ah ha’ finger and chose a recording to start on the music player before setting off on his errand.   Their life was returning!  The little things that were so profoundly special, that illuminated their days… his life had been so very dark since his Gregory departed and now the light was growing again.  And, this time, they would have all the years they desired to see that light brighten to a most spectacular glow…

__________

      “This is the finest thing, isn’t it, love?  You and me, a little music… I knew before I left for Africa that no matter the adventures I’d find, this would always be what I thought about when I went to bed at night.  This is what burrowed into my heart and made all else seem poor by comparison.”

Mycroft rubbed Lestrade’s sock-clad feet, which were resting in his lap, and smiled.

      “I find that to be the case, also.  So many things have I done in service of the Crown and regardless of their import or magnitude, the thought of the small events we shared in our day always quieted my mind as I took my rest.  That and… well, other elements of our latter days that were especially pleasurable.”

Risking what he hoped was a sultry look, Mycroft gave Lestrade’s foot a particularly-meaningful stroke and did a mental dance of victory when a familiar smile crept onto his lover’s face.  Gregory’s wicked grin had not diminished a whit given his months of apparent death…

      “You’re a risqué man, Mr. Holmes.  I do admire that about you.”

      “I find it has become a source of pride.  You brought so many wonders to my life, Gregory, and the discovery of hidden facets of myself is certainly one of them.”

Continuing to commit somewhat scandalous fondlings of his explorer’s foot, Mycroft hoped Lestrade would bite at the lure he had set into the water.  There was no scientific merit to the notion, but he felt strongly that his lover would see improved healing with another aspect of their life returning to them.  Gregory so cherished their physical intimacy and… it was exercise, was it not?  For one or both of them… depending upon matters at hand…

      “I knew from the first that my Mycroft would be a man of incomparable talent with those hidden facets.  Being proved right was never in question, not for me.”

Then, perhaps, it is time for that talent to be manifest.  As best it could be under the circumstances, of course…

      “Might I… provide a small demonstration to, shall we say, refresh your memory of my mastery of your teachings?”

Oh, the surprise in your eyes, my dear.  I shall not dwell upon the possible reasons, for I would rather dwell upon the anticipation of your response, instead.

      “I… really?”

      “If you object…”

      “No!  I mean…”

Mycroft moved Lestrade’s legs from his lap and budged over to take the explorer in a small kiss to stem the rising tide of emotion.

      “You still worry, my dear?  About how I perceive your form?”

      “No… yes…  perhaps.  It’s a different thing, a bath and… sex.  I… maybe, yes, I did worry a bit that part of things would still… maybe I’d put you off it.  At least for now.”

      “Rubbish.  Are you put off by the change in _my_ appearance?”

      “No, not at all… you’re still the most gorgeous, enticing man I’ve ever seen.”

      “And it is the same for me.  You are ill, my love, but that does not mean you do not excite me in the most primal of ways.”

And, to press his point home, Mycroft began, again, to kiss his explorer, this time moving quickly through chaste to heated to something that would make a prostitute blush, especially with certain actions by his hand that he remembered well was particularly appreciated by his lover.

      “Heavens above, Mycroft… do that again.”

Of course, my darling Gregory.  And, do allow your own hands to roam at will across my willing and eager form.

      “Gregory… do I detect evidence of, shall we say, enjoyment of my affection upon your person?”

      “Becoming hard as a stone you mean?  Yes, yes I am.  You are positively… you’re an incubus, you know that?  Come to tempt me into all sorts of sordid things.”

      “I am honored to do it.  And I offer to exercise that honor in the privacy and comfort of our bedroom.”

      “Ooohh… I do like offers.  As well as privacy and comfort.”

      “Do you also like the sensation of warm, willing lips upon the more personal regions of your body?”

The lust in your eyes, Gregory… I am, as ever, mesmerized by it…

      “I do.  I very much do.”

      “The feel of a large and limber tongue committing shocking indecency on your sensitive and aching flesh?”

      “Help me up the stairs?”

      “I shall port you as a sultan.”

Finding the idea of being carried not in the least abhorrent to his pride, not with an erection demanding attention in the loudest of voices, Lestrade sat up a bit and found himself scooped up in Mycroft’s arms.  Who paused a moment, then frowned.

      “Bother.”

      “Mycroft?”

      “Do prepare for a somewhat turbulent ride, my dear.”

      “Why?  Are you alright?”

      “Let us say… I was remiss in forgetting an… adjustment…  prior to taking you as my prize.”

      “Want me to do it?”

      “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Given your hands are free and mine are somewhat occupied at the moment.

      “One moment… oh, that’s a hefty prize _I’m_ anxious to take and… alright, how’s that?”

      “Much more comfortable.  Now, to our bed we go.  Prepare yourself for thoroughly improper conduct.”

Lestrade grimly nodded and wriggled slightly to show… preparation.  As both men broke into laughter and Mycroft began to carry his beloved upstairs for what was sure to be a long, sensual night of rediscovery, the thought of the future loomed large in the air and that thought was eagerly embraced by the ones striding towards it.  Their life _was_ returning and what better way to celebrate than with a little impropriety.  Well, a lot of impropriety would be better, so that was going to be the plan for the evening.  And for many, many more evenings to come…


	38. Chapter 38

      “You, of course, obtained two carriages for the trip.”

Mycroft shared a small smile with the man sitting next to him who he had enjoyed the privilege of dressing in his new clothing after a somewhat leisurely lingering this morning in bed.

      “Yes, Sherlock.  I was of a mind that Gregory should have as much rest as possible, so he shall be traveling with Doctor Watson and you shall be chained on the bench across from mine where you cannot create your standard degree of chaos and torment my beloved’s rest with your devilry.”

John, in a flash of prescience, held up a hand to catch the spray of Sherlock’s rude noise and rubbed the moisture on Sherlock’s trousers when the moment had passed.

      “Your monotonous droning will put Lestrade immediately to sleep, therefore, his rest is assured.  Of course, if you are truly kind of heart you will keep your subsequent chewing of cud to a minimal level of noise so as not to disturb his repose.”

The one good thing about crutches, in Lestrade’s opinion, was that they made grand weapons of obnoxious-bugger battery and he was particularly skilled with their use.

      “Stop that!”

      “Then don’t be evil to your brother!”

      “Your hat is falling down over your eyes, Lestrade.  How do you even know who was speaking?  It could have been John, though John’s sharpness of wit is not precisely as honed as that of the unknown speaker.”

The explorer made a profoundly rude gesture which earned Mycroft’s nod of approval, though he held back pushing his hat up on his head because, though it _might_ be a tad large, Sherlock was an arse and… no, that was enough.

      “I see your self-aggrandizing tale of woe has not dimmed your love of indecency.”

This shared smile between the older couple made Sherlock’s skin itch as if he was covered in hives.

      “NO!  No, there shall be no hint, not a scintilla of a _whit_ of hint of aged carnality and lustfulness.”

John stayed well out of the way of the verbal sparring, but paid very close attention to how the flow of words was going and the effect they were having on his recently-returned friend.  He and Greg had shared a highly-personal conversation during his physical examination of the explorer and he would be vigilant for any sign of mental bleakness or despondency.  So far, though, the signs were encouraging and, perhaps, Sherlock’s standard measure of lunacy was good medicine for the man coming back from such a tragedy.  As well as… aged carnality and lustfulness.  The twinkle in the aged’s eyes at breakfast would have immolated a vicar…

      “You’re simply envious, Sherlock.  I do apologize if we were a bit… loud, but Mycroft and I have a great deal of time to recoup that would normally have been filled with carts-full of energetic lust and carnality.”

      “I shall pour candle wax in my ears once we return home so as never to chance hearing your indecorous imprecations of satisfaction.”

      “Fair enough.  And, here we are!”

Patting Lestrade’s leg gently, Mycroft smiled softly at the memories he knew were flitting through the explorer’s mind about the last time they were in this place.  So much had happened on the visit to the country that the house and grounds would always hold a special place in their history.  Where better allow dear Gregory a comfortable rest where he could regain the mental and physical strength to once again greet the world at large?

      “Sit a moment, my dear, and I will assist you.”

Stepping out of the hired carriage, Mycroft waved Sherlock and John on to the train and held out a hand for Lestrade to take.

      “Mycroft… we’re in public, remember?”

      “I do and if you were not visibly infirm and tragically crippled, I would never dare to offer.”

The impish smirk on Mycroft’s lips had Lestrade affecting his most pitiful, sorrowful expression and taking an eon to come down to the ground, heavily relying on Mycroft’s steadying grasp and mentally laughing at the lack of horrified faces scorning their clasped hands.  Perhaps a bit of imperfection might work to their advantage now and again.

      “Shall we make our way to the train, Gregory?  I will stand close in the event you require assistance traversing this terribly inhospitable terrain.”

And, of course, do take that as a signal to demonstrate to the public your supreme showmanship as you totter and teeter and grimace in pain every step you make towards our train.  You have not lost yourself, my dear… not at all…

__________

      “We’re getting close, aren’t we, love?”

      “Yes, actually.  Only a short distance further.”

      “Did you… is your mum expecting me?”

      “No… I felt certain it would, first, give her quite a shock, which would be better managed with a doctor on the premises and, second, she would likely crow your return to every corner of England, which runs counter to our objectives.”

      “Didn’t think about that.  I’d hate to be beset by another legion of marriage hopefuls before I’ve got a bit more vigor in my trousers.”

Your grin, Gregory Lestrade… it is certainly illegal in most countries of the world.

      “I would think your trousers housed a more than sufficient quantity of vigor.  I found myself most exhausted when, _finally_ , I was able to persuade you to sleep.”

That smile is illegal in _all_ countries…

      “We did have our fair share of fun, didn’t we?”

      “That we did.  Your talents for licentiousness are without compare, Mr. Lestrade.”

      “Only when I’m properly inspired and you are a very inspiring person, Mr. Holmes.  And a dab hand licentiousness, yourself.  I know _I_ didn’t teach you that little thing you did with your tongue that made me shiver…”

      “I… I may have found some small morsel of creativity given the joyfulness of the moment and let it guide me.”

      “Well… I’ll see you have all the joyfulness in the world if that’s my reward.  Thought my release would break a few bones and, believe me, I know the force needed for that!”

Now and again his explorer made the smallest of statements that gave Mycroft a spark of worry.  Perhaps it was nothing, perhaps it was the use of levity to manage… or mask… his pain, regardless he would speak to John on the issue and decide if something more than vague worry was warranted.

      “Shall I grant you a gentler abandon when next we have a private moment together?”

      “Under no circumstances!  I want stars in my eyes and I’ve never known another who could give me the heavens’ hand basket full of them.”

Every star in the sky I shall put in your eyes, my Gregory.  Though we shall have to wait until we return home for that…

      “Then prepare for a wealth of stars!  However, we must first prepare to disembark the train.  Ah… I see our transport awaits patiently our arrival.”

Lestrade glanced out the window to see the familiar carriage waiting beyond the stationhouse and experienced his first twinge of nervousness about carrying on with their visit.  Mycroft’s mother was a formidable woman, but would that stretch to embrace this shell that passed as the valiant explorer she remembered so well?  His lover had proven he could, as did the remainder of their London household, however… there was no assurance that acceptance would extend beyond their threshold.

      “There.  Our noble steed has come to a halt and it is time to take our leave.  The steps to ground shall surely be treacherous, my dear, so allow me the honor of going first so my enhanced robustness might cushion your fall should you slip.”

Now and again his Mycroft made the smallest of statements that gave Lestrade a spark of worry.  Perhaps it was nothing, perhaps it was the use of levity to manage… or mask… his pain, regardless he would speak to John on the issue and decide if something more than vague worry was warranted.  Or… he could just ask.

      “Mycroft, wait a moment…”

      “Is there a problem, Gregory?”

      “I… I don’t know.  We’ve talked a lot about me since I returned, but… are you alright, Mycroft?  I know this is a strange time to broach this, but… sometimes I worry that you’re in need of some help or a chance to talk or something else and I don’t know how to provide it since I’m not certain what _it_ is.  I know you suffered while I was… away… and it made you do things that aren’t normally your manner.  Is it… can I help in some way?  You’ve been… I can’t begin to describe how greatly you’ve aided me, even in this short time, but I… am I doing anything to aid _you_?” 

Mycroft had hoped his emotions had come under tighter control, but seeing the naked sincerity in Lestrade’s eyes, he felt that control slipping once again.

      “Yes, my beloved… oh yes.  I… I trod a dark and desperate path, my love, one I shudder to contemplate when a moment of silence envelops me and I know that there lingers cold and icy fingers that stroke my heart when that moment of silence arrives.  But, you are my warmth, dear Gregory.  When I saw you, believed you were again to be mine, the darkness began to wane.  I have… I have hesitated to speak of this as I refused to take from you even a second of attention.  I wished you fully to have the entirety of my focus, however… perhaps the path forward for both of us should be taken together.  I would cherish for a time having opportunity to talk of things that… that I fear sharing, but know, with you, I can find the strength to do so.”

Checking the curtains on the windows to the train corridor were closed, Lestrade moved across to the opposite bench to give his lover a soft kiss and lay his head briefly on Mycroft’s shoulder.

      “I love you, Mycroft, and will always be here to listen and talk and do whatever is in my power to do to ease your own suffering.  I can’t imagine what you endured thinking I was dead and whatever is possible to help ease that pain, you shall have it from me.  We have that time now, time to talk and love and share… all the time in the world…”

Reaching up to stroke Lestrade’s cheek, Mycroft felt a pressure he hadn’t noticed before begin to lessen in his chest.  His Gregory needed him, needed his willing ear to heal the ache inside.  But… as greatly, _he_ needed his Gregory and now felt able to reach out and satisfy that need.

      “Thank you, my dear.  I… I have hidden from my troubles long enough.”

Raising his head, Lestrade smiled and gave his lover one brief, final kiss, knowing they soon would be invaded either by their traveling companions or the porter offering assistance, then scrabbled for his crutches so he could rise from his seat.

      “And you’ll hide no more.  Neither of us shall.  Now, want to make use of that fine carriage waiting for us or shall we continue on and find somewhere to visit where nobody knows us and there’s not a valet in sight to tend to our shoes?”

      “You do make an adventure sound most appealing, however, I can predict with extreme ease the reaction of Sherlock to the news we have decided not to share the undertaking of this visit and it is one I am not certain the nation will survive.”

      “That’s true.  John wouldn’t mind, though.  Your mum adores him.”

      “Then my mind is salved for the possibility that we shall abandon them at some point to take an afternoon away for ourselves is markedly high.  You did not get to see the nearby village or some of my personal favorite vistas, few though they may be.”

      “Perfect.  I’m looking forward to that, actually.  Just you and me doing our own exploring, with you as my guide.”

      “Then you shall have all you desire.  Come, my beloved… Mummy awaits.”

Mycroft joined Lestrade on his feet and, as promised, led the way and provided the necessary assistance to make the journey off the train a successful one for his lover, something not made easier by the searing heat of Sherlock’s glare, likely fueled by the suspicion that he _would_ be abandoned and forced to endure their mother’s attention without any distraction by the rather large surprise he hoped would render this visit a very easy one for him and John.  They had serious research to accomplish and that would not be assisted by the enthusiastic meddling of his dastardly mother.  Let her exercise her maternal instincts on Mycroft and Lestrade… they would likely benefit enormously from intense motherly scrutiny and care.  In fact, he would suggest that very thing the moment they arrived…

__________

      “Do… are you certain I look… alright?”

Mycroft reached up to still the hands Lestrade had started adjusting his clothing and hair, and held it firmly, albeit out of sight, to calm his lover’s nerves.

      “You cut a striking figure, Gregory.  Mummy will be most pleased.”

      “I just… it’s going to be a shock, regardless, but I don’t want to add to it by looking like a beggar.  Once is enough for that particular bit of theater.”

Though theater it was not, in truth, for his Gregory spent two weeks on the streets of London, having no further monies to his name and unable to perform much in the way of work beyond some reading and writing of letters.  It may only have been for a brief time, but never, never again would his love experience such penury…

      “Fear not, for beggar in no manner describes your appearance.  Sherlock, however…”

      “I do not present as a beggar!  Beggars are not forced into such uncomfortable and ostentatious garments to suffer the choking pressure of society’s demands for fashion.”

      “They do, though, brother sport hair similar to yours and you are well aware of Mummy’s insistence on the tidiness of your curls.  Prepare for a shearing.”

      “Never!  Mummy attacked me with her ridiculous shears during our previous visit and I will not submit to her narrow-mindedness another time.  Sweeny Todd is not as dedicated to pursuing his victims as is Mummy.”

Lestrade grinned at the exchange and marveled that it was as if he had never left the brothers Holmes.  John painted a sad and terrible tale of the brothers’ relationship during his absence and it was overwhelmingly gladdening to see that breach mending itself right before his eyes.

      “And you may discuss that with Mummy in a trice for… we are arrived.”

Giving Lestrade’s hand a gentle squeeze for support, Mycroft waited for John and Sherlock to hop out of the carriage, then helped the explorer to the ground, taking the opportunity of a small wobble to lay hands on his arms and gaze into his eyes.

      “Brave heart, Gregory.”

      “I’m trying.”

Following slowly in the younger men’s wake, Mycroft and Lestrade made their way to the house, pausing only when they heard Mycroft’s mother’s shriek of happiness at Sherlock and John’s arrival.

      “I’m still trying, Mycroft.”

      “As am I.”

      “Maybe…”

Lestrade slowed a bit and took step a little behind Mycroft so he was slightly concealed in what Mycroft informed him was a crassly craven fashion.

      “Survival doesn’t worry about craven.”

      “Glorious.  Very well… onward.”

Stepping into the house, this next shriek threatened to bring down said house around their ears.

      “MYCROFT!  You are here!”

Mummy’s rush forward for a hug was stopped only by the severest glare from her eldest son, leaving her only to stand in place and quiver with delight.

      “I believe I cabled that would be the case.”

      “Pfft.  I paid as much heed to that as when my physician scolds me for my sherry-and-chocolate treat in the evening.  Oh, look at you… you… you appear much… _happier_ than last I saw you.”

How his glowering visage could be considered happy, Mycroft would never know, but mothers had their own special senses, he presumed.

      “Yes, well… there has been a turn of events to prompt that.”

      “Oh.  And… does it have to do with the gentleman lurking behind you?”

      “It does.”

      “Is he… well, he looks a fright and… are those crutches?  Good lord, Mycroft, you haven’t brought one of Sherlock’s tramps with you, have you?”

The ‘oh god’ from behind him prompted the smallest of movements so Mycroft could brush his fingers across his lover’s jacket to calm his distress.

      “Mummy, that is highly uncharitable of you.”

      “Not at all!  An honest description is not uncharitable.  Uncharitable would be having the footmen hurl him into the horse trough for what is likely a much-needed bath.”

No one would ever believe Sherlock an adopted boy once they had met the mother who birthed him.

      “It is uncharitable and… how do you know about Sherlock’s… informants?”

      “I have hired Mrs. Hudson as my spy in your household.”

Mycroft’s long-suffering sigh was not quite as long-suffering as it might have been as it was clear Mrs. Hudson chose which information to pass along and what to hold close to vest.

      “Most efficient of you.”

      “If you believe for a moment that I would leave myself without eyes and ears on you and your brother, especially in your time of mourning, then you are feeble-witted.”

Thank you, Mummy, for, at the very least, providing a suitable segue into the next portion of our conversation.

      “I see.  Though Mrs. Hudson may object to the loss of income, I would offer that the need for vigilance has come to an end.”

      “Oh?  Are you… Mycroft, are you moving home to the manor?”

Not if all the gods of all the religious pantheons of human history said in one voice that it must be so.

      “No, however… do brace yourself, Mummy…”

Turning and giving his lover a gentle smile, Mycroft stepped aside and encouraged Lestrade to take a few steps forward.

      “Yes?  Oh!  Oh, of course.  You require a seat, what with your debilitation.  I have no idea why Mycroft finds that astounding, however…”

      “No… No, Mrs. Holmes… he… well…”

Mycroft applied gentle pressure to Lestrade’s back to urge him further forward and the explorer decided it was an easier path than trying to run away, given Mycroft would certainly give chase, as would the footmen, and there was no possibility of that ending positively for anyone.

      “It’s… it’s been some time, Mrs. Holmes, but… do you not recognize me?  Not in the slightest?”

Lestrade smiled, but knew it wasn’t the brash and flirtatious grin he usually sported, something he couldn’t for the life of him muster while the woman who had claimed him as a son-in-law looked at him with clear befuddlement in her eyes.

      “I can’t say that I… hold one moment…”

On one side of her brain was a thousand tiny details clamoring to be heard and, on the other, was one very loud voice yelling back that their clamors were for naught because… Gregory was dead.  Very dead and dead men do not arrive in one’s home shyly seeking recognition.

Darting her eyes between Mycroft and the withered man standing before her, the thousand tiny details began to unify into a voice that outshouted the other until…

      “Gr… Gregory?  It cannot be… it cannot be you…”

Slowly moving forward a further few steps, Lestrade stopped and removed his hat so his hair was more visible to add credence to his claim.

      “It is, Mrs. Holmes.  It’s me.  I’m… I’m home.”

Reaching out cautiously, as if terrified to scare away the ghost in her house, Mummy laid a hand directly on the explorer’s chest and, feeling the strongly-beating heart, let the rest of her rush to press against the man who had to be steadied by his lover to withstand the collision.

      “Gregory… oh heavens… it’s a miracle… how are you here… blast it, I don’t care!”

Weeping heavily on Lestrade’s waistcoat, the family matriarch cried just as much for the man in her arms as for her son, who had been as near to dead as the man he mourned with every fiber of his being.

      “It’s alright, Mrs. Holmes, I’ll tell you the story and… well, it’s not terribly miraculous, but it is… well, it’s got its fair share of adventure to boast of.”

      “I expect no less!  Oh, Gregory… this is the happiest day of my life!”

John punched the rude-noise-making Sherlock in the arm and pushed down his own surge of emotion seeing his friend gladly welcomed by the woman who had given him another glad welcome so many months ago.  Greg feared being shunned, being left at the margins to look in as those he knew and loved went on about their lives without him.  Every bit of proof that this was not the fate that awaited him was… well, it was better medicine than he had in his bag and the bigger the dose the better for his patient.

      “Mycroft!  Mycroft… Gregory is returned to us… come, son… come here…”

Smiling softly, Mycroft strode towards his mother and received his own forceful punch in the arm for his troubles.

      “Gregory is returned to us and you fail to inform me!  This is a shameful habit of yours, Mycroft Holmes, that I will not see continue!  Oh…”

Releasing Lestrade to latch onto Mycroft, who visibly expressed his shattering agony, this second round of tears thoroughly disheveled another waistcoat and, despite his efforts to the contrary, filled Mycroft’s heart with gladness.

      “If we are done with the caterwauling and tear-based clothes washing, John and I are going to the hives.  We will return when we feel it can be accomplished without suffering a downpour of feminine emotions in liquid form.”

Grabbing John by the arm, Sherlock hustled the doctor towards the rear of the house, then turned towards the kitchens, remembering that a fed John was a happy John and a happy John was… good.

      “Oh, I am overcome, positively overcome.  You must… let us sit!  You must be exhausted after your journey and… food!  It is a touch early for tea, but tea we shall have with a bountiful assortment of sandwiches and cakes.  I am eager to hear the tale that lost you your, shall we say, girlish figure, Gregory, but I shall be damned to Hades if I will let that figure continue to waste in my house!”

Linking her arms with her son and son-in-law, Mummy began the march to the drawing room for what she just knew would be a story unlike any she had ever heard.  This was… this was the work of magic, there was no doubt, but what did that matter if their Gregory was returned to them.  Bringing their Mycroft back from the grave, as well…

__________

Watching his lover closely, Mycroft made sure to continually press sandwiches into Lestrade’s hands, as much to appease his mother as to put nourishment into his lover’s body and catalogued what he observed as the explorer told the story of his escape from the ship and the harrowing events in the aftermath.  What had begun as a purely factual tale had quickly morphed into something more suffused with his lover’s flair for storytelling, making the events both more fantastic and less sorrowful than the reality of what he suffered.  The truth was still there, but Mummy was not reduced to tears, more was she admiring his lover’s courage and spirit, which was precisely what would make the story an easier one for the explorer to tell.  Especially if, in the future, he would tell it over and over to eager listeners.

      “I am… Mycroft!  Are you hearing this?”

      “I am sitting next to you Mummy, so the probability is high.”

Dear gods, but his mother was gaining a taste and strength for boxing… that one may have left a bruise…

      “Cease with your superciliousness, you disrespectful son.  Gregory’s tale of valor… does that not move you profoundly?  I have never heard the like, Gregory, never in any story read or heard spoken.  Only you could have survived such a tragic set of circumstances and it is a powerful mark of your character that you are here now to share your tale with others.  Oh, I cannot wait to… a party!  Yes, that is the perfect thing.  I shall send messages this very day and…”

      “Mummy… Gregory’s return has… we have not yet announced such to anyone besides our household and now yours.  He requires rest and the chance to recover from his ordeal; that shall not be possible if he is inundated with admirers, hoping to hear of his trials and adventures.  We are here to see him restored, not to place the burden of society upon his shoulders.”

      “Excellent.  You are absolutely correct and not a message shall I send until you have deemed it proper to do so.  Of course, I will expect to host a party in Gregory’s honor once he is sufficiently well to receive his lauds.  That _will_ occur, Mycroft, am I correct.”

As if the tone in her voice left any doubt as to Mycroft’s answer.

      “Of course, Mummy.  We would never deny you the chance to showcase Gregory’s bravery in your special and exuberant manner.”

      “Then it is settled.  Oh my son… my _sons_ … I could never have dreamt of a day so joyful… you will stay for some time, will you not?  The fetid air of London cannot be conducive to good health at the best of times.  It is much more placid here and that will greatly benefit Gregory’s well-being.”

Knowing that his mother’s ‘some time’ likely meant something akin to the duration of his lover’s death, Mycroft shot Lestrade a comforting glance and smiled at the woman already preparing to ring in the new year with her family in residence.

      “We shall certainly have a week to enjoy your hospitality, Mummy, perhaps two, then we must see to resurrecting Gregory and the life he crafted before his apparent demise.”

      “That… that is all?  A fortnight?”

Or less, depending how well tolerated was his mother’s overly-attentive nurse-maiding by the man he loved.

      “For now, but, it is assured that we shall visit with some frequency now that we are restored in number.”

The happy gasp assured _Mycroft_ his mother was satisfied for now, but would certainly try to inveigle them into a lengthier stay as time wore on.  Fortunately, Sherlock would push back as hard as would he, so her battlefront would not breach their resolve.

      “Splendid.  Utterly splendid.  Now, are these the only garments you have, Gregory?”

      “I… yes?  Is there something wrong with them?”

      “They are hanging on you like the rags on a scarecrow.  Never fear… my maid is handy with needle and thread.  We shall take time today to ensure you have properly-fitting clothing so your stay is a comfortable one.  That, however, can take place later.  For now… Gregory appears wan, Mycroft.  See he has a few turns around the garden to put some color in his cheeks.”

Refusing to laugh at his companion’s harrumph, Lestrade clambered upwards and was quickly followed by his mother-in-law, who took him in another rib-cracking hug.

      “You are a jewel, Gregory.  I have no idea what we have done to deserve a gem like you, but I am forever thankful for it.  Now, go… have a small stroll and then present yourself to my maid for some tailoring of your wardrobe.  There shall be refreshments, for I am certain you have little reserve upon which to draw to take your lovely garden stroll.”

Darting away before she began again to weep, the lady of the house spared a look back only when she was out of the room and smiled at the sight of her Mycroft gently helping his in-all-but-name spouse navigate the thick rug on the drawing room floor.  This day could never have been predicted, but she _had_ held some tiny, fragile hope that even after this long a time, there was still some chance the whole business was a terrible, terrible dream from which she would wake and laugh at herself for being so foolish.  Today was not an actual waking, but it felt much the same as if she had risen from a long and highly-unrestful sleep.  Their Gregory was home and in the best possible hands for his care.  And Mycroft’s hands we so very, very large at the moment, that the care certainly would be copious…

__________

Obeying his mother’s command, Mycroft escorted Lestrade on a small walk through the gardens, relieved the ground was firm and flat to accommodate his lover’s crutches and had to admit, at least to himself, that the small amount of fresh air and weak sunshine enlivened his Gregory in a highly appreciable manner.  Thought it was anathema to _him_ , a daily or nightly constitutional for them both was certain to be a fixture of their life whenever possible.  His beloved took such energy from the open world that it would be heinous to deny him the experience.  Perhaps… it would not be unheard of for a man in his position to have a house in the country for time away from the hectic pace of London life. Something comfortable, in a scenic region, where he could offer his love time to roam and ramble through their vast expanse of property and enjoy the natural world as only Gregory could do so.

      “Thinking, love?”

      “Only about your splendor.”

      “Kind words will earn you kisses, you know.”

      “My very intent.  And aren’t we fortunate that a thick and sturdy hedge looms ahead of us.”

Laughing when Lestrade made his best attempt at running towards his prize, Mycroft followed along at a more sedate pace and fell into his lover’s arms when they were out of sight of the house.

      “Pleased, my dear?”

      “I am, actually.  This… this was the perfect idea, Mycroft.  I already feel more relaxed and we’ve scarcely been here two hours!”

He would have his solicitor begin seeking an appropriate property the very moment they returned to London.

      “Then _I_ am pleased for it was my greatest hope you would find some ease during our visit.”

      “I’m sure I will.  I can’t sleep with you, which is what gives me _greatest_ ease, but it’s good to be here, with the flowers and trees and grass… my lovely little pond not far away where you first saw my bum.”

      “Gregory… such a salacious memory.”

      “You loved it.”

      “That I did.  A more perfectly-sculpted bottom has never been seen upon this Earth.”

      “Feels as good as it looks, too.  Usually.”

      “It is still tactically tantalizing, I assure you.  And, with Mummy’s dedication to seeing you fattened, it shall regain its familiar rotundity in very short order, I have no doubt.”

      “I’m certainly willing for her to try.  Speaking of…”

      “Are you growing fatigued, my dear?”

      “A little.  Hungry, too.  I think your mum was right about my lack of reserves.”

      “Such is to be expected.  Let us see you indoors, then, and find for you something delicious to eat.  Then, I am afraid, you will have to submit to Mummy’s maid.”

      “That’s a small price to pay to keep your mum happy.  Hate to have her look at me over the dining table with my jacket slipping off my arms.”

      “Your clothing is not that loose, Gregory.”

      “You have your story, I have mine.”

Very good, my dear.  Build your repertoire of tales, find ways to speak of your tribulation that make you smile and not ache… slip further and further into the skin you once wore and will, in short order, wear again.

      “I am defeated by your forceful application of logic.”

      “I’m talented like that.  Food now?”

As much as you desire, Gregory.  Many small meals to gently fill your stomach and the flesh that surrounds it.

      “I believe that might be arranged.  Something sweet to accompany it?”

      “I did enjoy those small lemon cakes.”

      “I have little doubt there are more to be found in the kitchen.  Here, we shall take the east entrance for it is a shorter route.”

Enjoying one final kiss from his explorer’s lips, Mycroft walked him through one last section of the gardens before steering him towards the kitchen for a filling bite before they were descended upon by the butler to announce Gregory’s fitting was scheduled for now and it would not do for him to dawdle.  Rising to assist his lover, Mycroft was, instead, redirected to the library where his mother hoped to have a word with him about certain household matters.

      “I’ll be alright, Mycroft.  I doubt your mum would pull you away from something as entertaining as me being a seamstress’s model if it wasn’t important.”

Mycroft’s opinion on the matter made the explorer laugh as the butler led him away to meet his fate, leaving Mycroft to obey his mother’s wishes and dutifully presented himself in the library.

      “Ah, Mycroft… your stroll was a pleasant one?”

      “Very, in truth.  Gregory was most heartened by the small turn in the fresh air.”

      “I suspected as much.  Your husband is not the sort to fare well lingering long in London.”

      “Mummy… do take care with your appellations.”

      “We are alone, are we not?  And, furthermore, it is most apt.”

That was beside the point, but… if ever there was a title to bestow his Gregory, ‘husband’ was surely the one to choose.

      “You will need to be vigilant, Mycroft, that the soot of London does not penetrate too far into his skin.”

      “Actually…”

      “Yes?”

      “I was considering a modest country residence for periodic holidays away from the city.”

Which you will detest, because it means we are not taking our holiday _here_.

      “An superb idea.”

Pardon?

      “P… pardon?”

      “It is a very wise decision, I feel.  Besides London itself, there is your brother to consider.  Doctor Watson has done wonders to temper his more prickly edges, however, we both know that a respite from Sherlock’s colorful ways is always beneficial for the internals.  In any case, a couple should have, at times, some freedom from encumbrances to enjoy purely the sensation of being together.  You would take members of your own household staff, would you not?”

      “That… that is likely the most efficient strategy.”

As well as the safest for his and Gregory’s little secret.

      “Good.  Begin on that the moment you return.  Now, come and sit with me.”

Patting the seat next to her on the small sofa, Mummy smiled, which put Mycroft on high alert for some form of ambush, but he complied regardless.

      “There… now, let us speak of you, my son.”

AMBUSH!  He had fallen directly into the trap!

      “I propose we do not and, instead, use the time for a measure of blissful silence or a discussion concerning the state of your lavender.”

      “Wrong on both counts.  Tell me, Mycroft… how are you coping with Gregory’s return?”

      “C…coping?”

      “My son… you were destroyed when you believed your Gregory dead.  For a man of incalculable will, not a mote of it could save you from disintegrating more and more each day.  Mrs. Hudson did keep me aware of things, as did your brother, though neither saw fit to inform me of Gregory’s return, but I will forgive that in the spirit of offering me an exhilarating surprise.  I believe you descended to the lowest point a man can fall then found yourself catapulted upwards again most rapidly.  That… that cannot be easy to reconcile…”

      “There… there is some truth to that.  I was shocked to the core to see Gregory, standing in my kitchen and… there have been many moments where I find myself touching him simply to reassure myself that he is truly returned and not a figment of my mind’s desperation and sorrow.  But, I hold my heart’s desire fully in my hands again and that is all that truly matters.”

      “I would agree, but that also imposes some… responsibilities on you, does it not?  In areas not exactly your strength.”

There was also some truth to _that_.  A great deal of it, actually…

      “It is my honor to uptake those responsibilities.”

      “Again, I would agree, however, that does not make them easier to bear.  You must care for him, safeguard his pride, be the patient ear when he needs to speak his heart, console him when his memories leap upon him, help him find a new life that offers reward, but does not overwhelm him… that is a herculean task to place before someone already inundated with tasks too numerous to contemplate.  I ask again, Mycroft… how are you coping?”

      “I… I am doing my utmost to meet the challenge.”

Having his belly patted by anyone besides his lover was not something to brighten Mycroft’s mood, especially when the belly-patting was a message unto itself.

      “ ‘I’ is a very singular term, my son.  You do not readily seek out assistance, let alone comfort, and shun it when such is offered.  Your Gregory will need your attention and love, but there is no shame in taking some for yourself.  Gregory’s death nearly killed you, Mycroft… do not allow his resurrection to do the same.”

Mycroft scowled, but had to admit there was merit to his mother’s words.  If he followed his tendencies, he would, alone, take on the responsibility for his lover’s recovery and put aside his own, despite his words to the contrary on the train.  It _was_ his nature… to oversee Sherlock’s loosely-reined chaos, to keep eyes on the world and _it’s_ loosely-reined chaos and, now, his beloved’s successful recuperation and reintroduction to a happy, productive life in London.  And he did not share his fatigue, frustrations or worries with anyone.  Never.  He held them all behind a great wall that helped construct and protect his indomitable façade.

      “Gregory and I have spoken of this.  He… he is eager to provide for me any support I might require at this most unique time. ”

      “I knew he was the perfect one for you.  Such a valiant heart… accept his offer, my son.  Take Sherlock’s hand when he extends it.  His Doctor Watson’s, as well.  You have those around you who value you, Mycroft, who love you dearly and want to help when they see the need, just as you want to help them when it is required.  It is not from a sterile sense of duty, but an honest desire to give succor to someone important to them who is troubled.  And, I am always here.  Come, any time, or ask that I visit.  I shall set aside everything to make myself accessible to you for I love you deeply and shall always be there for you.  It is not an imposition, a show of weakness or a flaw of character to need support and comfort, my darling son, especially when such a tortuous thing has occurred.”

Mycroft’s scowl deepened, but he gave his mother the grudging nod for which she had hoped and gained himself a firm squeeze of his hand as reward.

      “Good.  Now, let us speak of your hopes for your Gregory.  Have you discussed what work he might do?  Gallivanting is no longer appropriate, I think, but a man of his caliber should have a wealth of options, so we shall craft a list of suggestions should his own thinking run a touch dry.”

The return to typically meddling-Mummy was a relief for Mycroft, but he knew he would not be able to forget or ignore her words.  He would need to learn to do as she hoped and, perhaps, a way to start that thinking was to remind himself again and again that if he was not hale, hearty and content, he was of little use to his Gregory.   For that reason alone he would fight his instincts and try a new strategy for his self-management.  For instance, Sherlock did not believe he knew about the small chats with Mrs. Hudson when he had an issue that vexed him… if his brother could bend his spine, he certainly could as well.  And do it with far greater aplomb, as well…

__________

A freshly tailored set of clothes, a most acceptable dinner, some affable conversation, sherry with family and now… a walk under the stars.  His Gregory could not smile brighter if commanded by the universe itself.

      “This is… oh, how I missed this sort of thing.  Those last weeks before John and I sailed were so blasted busy that I thought about quiet nights like this more often than I should have to be properly efficient at expedition mounting.”

      “I was thinking that such could become a regular part of our days.  A constitutional to set aside our burdens and concerns and simply partake of our own company for awhile.  Might that interest you?”

      “It would!  Oh, that sounds marvelous, actually.  It’s good exercise, too, which I’ll need if this rotten leg is going to get sorted.  I’ll be very happy to see the end of these crutches and have myself a handsome walking stick instead.  One of those that immediately catches the eye that I can use to emphasize a point when I’m conversing with someone.”

      “Already planning your stage persona, my dear?”

      “That’s an idea.  Take to the stage and do an act.  I’ve no idea what that act would be since dancing or tumbling is out of the question.  So is singing, if I’m honest.  And I don’t play a musical instrument.  Bugger.  I think my theatrical career is over before it’s even started.”

      “Let us not despair so quickly… an actor, perhaps?”

      “Oooh… that could work!  An actor in one of those truly bawdy shows the old ladies speak out against when they’re sneaking in to see the performances every chance they get.”

      “A most appropriate suggestion.  I do hope you would base your career in London, however.  I would hate to have to see a train designed specifically for my work so that I might follow you around as you toured the empire.”

      “London will do.  For now.”

      “Excellent.  We should likely, however, consider other options in the interests of due diligence.  Society is rather fickle about its entertainment and it would be a terrible to see the tide turn towards, say, Greek tragedy and your hours of rehearsal come to naught.”

      “True.  But… in all seriousness, I do need to start thinking about my income.”

      “Another day, my love.  There is little to set in motion until you are fully aware what will be your capabilities.  You would want your widest range of possibilities available to you and it would be hasty to eliminate a selection based on an imperfect picture of what are your strengths.”

      “That makes sense.  Soon, though…”

      “Without question.  And I shall assist in whatever manner I am able.  However… be mindful that there is no great hurry, Gregory.  I implore you to take the opportunity to have all the rest and recovery time that you require.  We are not facing eviction or starvation and shall manage well without you adding to our accounts at present.”

      “Thank you, love.  But… I do need to make my contribution.  Make my own way.  I promise that I won’t do anything before I’m ready, but when the time comes, I want to have something to show for myself.  Maybe it’s no more than mind the till in a shop, but that’s honest work that serves a purpose and that’s important to me.  You’ve got that and… look at Sherlock and John!  Solving cases for Scotland Yard!  And John writing stories about the loony things they do… everyone has their lives in order and they’re good lives.  Enjoyable and productive lives.  I want that, too.”

      “And you shall have it.  The world at your feet to pick and choose what is best for your wants and requirements.  For the moment, allow me the privilege of seeing to the necessities of life and, when you are ready, you shall add your sword to the fight.”

      “I could do a sword act!  I’d need to learn to use a sword first, though.”

Lestrade laughed at his lover’s rolled eyes and knew that his future, no matter what form it might take, was going to be a glorious one, given this was the man who would share it at his side.

      “I shall employ a fencing master to attend to your training.”

      “Do they work with those big broadswords or the ones pirates use?”

      “That shall factor heavily in the questions I pose during their employment interview.”

      “Perfect.  Whoops!”

Mycroft quickly steadied the explorer, whose crutch slipped on a shifting rock in the path and took the opportunity to relish the feel of the man’s arms in his grasp.

      “Careful, my dear.”

      “Blame the moon.  Bastard hiding behind the clouds so I can’t see those pesky pebbles.  Silly things you take for granted when you’re not having to walk about with these bastards under your arms.  But, that does give me an idea…”

There was no moon, but Mycroft had no difficulty seeing the large and intent-laden smile on the explorer’s face, making no comment while Lestrade nodded his head towards a large tree and began moving in that direction.

      “Oh yes, this will do nicely.”

      “Might I inquire as to what ‘this’ refers?”

      “You’ll find out in just one moment.  Now, why don’t you get comfortable.  Lean back a bit.”

      “Gregory…”

      “Just one moment… it’s… it’s not as easy to get down here as it once was.”

      “Down here?  Gregory Lestrade, what are you doing?  That can, in no manner, be healthy for your leg.”

      “It’ll manage.  Got something more important on my mind at the moment than twinges from my evil knee.  Much more important…”

Which Mycroft finally caught the gist of when fingers began to unfasten the buttons on his trousers.

      “Gregory!”

      “That is my name and I’m glad you’ve not forgotten it.  And he’s not forgotten me, either.  Already plumping nicely in anticipation of a bit of outdoor indulgence.”

Mycroft’s shocked gasp at having his cock exposed to the wild world of nature gave the explorer a happy tingle of delight.  This extra touch of tawdriness would give his Mycroft as especially nice time.  The man may be a proper gentlemen, but he did take special pleasure from the shocking little things in life.

      “Stunning.  You are a stunning man, Mycroft, and this bit is especially lovely to behold.”

And take into the mouth for a long, wet suck that threatens to shake the flesh off your bones.

      “Oh… oh my stars…”

      “Watching everything we do, even with these clouds, I suspect.  Let them watch… my Mycroft is gorgeous when he’s being pleasured.”

And pleasure was the only thing on Lestrade’s mind as he worked Mycroft’s long cock with his mouth until it was fully hard and his lover’s breath was deep and shuddery.  Swirling his tongue around the sensitive skin, the explorer grinned that his lover’s hands made directly for his head to pull him closer so he could take matters as deep as possible.

      “Yes, my dear… oh yes…”

Deciding that fast and filthy was the right course, the explorer sucked quick and hard, letting the tip of his tongue flick at the slit at the very tip of Mycroft’s leaking cock, which brought heaving grunts of pleasure from the man he loved until a ragged shout broke through Mycroft’s clenched teeth and Lestrade’s mouth filled with a beautiful, bitter saltiness that said the job was done and done very well, at that.

Taking a moment to nuzzle his Mycroft’s belly, Lestrade made note of the soft, contented hum the skin was transferring to his ears and that if he didn’t get off his knees soon, getting up wouldn’t happen without help, which would certainly break his Holmes’s floaty, happy mood.  Therefore, one moment to make his lover presentable again and then a somewhat slow rise, using Mycroft’s arm for leverage, until he could lean against the man purring with feline coziness and kiss the gentle smile on his lips.

      “You are irredeemably libidinous, Gregory Lestrade.”

      “Which you adore.”

      “Boundlessly.”

Mental note:  impress upon solicitor that country residence must be surrounded by many large trees, as well as ponds, and the strictest measure of privacy so any and all forms of outdoor revelry might occur with this exquisite and sensual man.

      “That’s what I want to hear.  When you’re ready, we can continue our walk, but don’t hurry on my account.  I’m very comfortable where I am.”

A statement that, to Lestrade, had much more to it than the simple physical aspects of the moment.  Yes, their love posed hazards.  Dangers, ruin even.  But, he had never felt as comfortable in life as he did now, with this man and the family they had crafted together.  They could never have all that a married couple possessed, but they could have all the bits that were most important.  More, really, because they had deep and true love… something not found in a tragic number of marriages.

      “I believe me may linger a moment or two, though I do believe Mummy has commanded a violin performance by Sherlock and our attendance is most certainly expected.”

      “He’ll hate that.  I can’t wait!”

      “Yes, it will be a joy to watch as Sherlock battles his writhing torment while Mummy enthusiastically applauds.”

      “And then we’ll see a performance by you, right?”

      “Come again?”

      “You have an ear, and fingers, for music.  You told me so yourself.”

      “I… you are mistaken.”

      “My legs are broken, Mycroft, not my memory.”

      “I shall have John provide a review of your mental state.  I am certain he will find the relevant defect.”

      “That wasn’t even a credible attempt.  I want to hear you play and I _will_.  I have allies.”

Damn Gregory and his use of strategy!

      “You are going to conscript Mummy to your cause.”

      “That I am and she’ll rejoice for it, too.”

She would.  Mummy was nothing if not eager to shine a lantern on his and Sherlock’s attributes, regardless if the lantern burned their flesh with the heat of a thousand suns.

      “You are a dastardly manipulator, my dear.”

      “I need to remember that.  Put it right on my list of talents when I go seeking my fortune.”

      “It _is_ a valuable one to have.  Do you, perhaps, have a taste for government work?”

      “Will we get to share an office and do naughty things on our massive desks?”

      “Hmmmm… I fail to see a problem with that.  I would have to instruct the tea boy to knock before entering, but that is a minor matter.”

      “Then I’ll give it due consideration.  We can have a piano-forte in there, as well, so you can entertain me while I do my manipulations.”

Mycroft’s scolding glare made Lestrade grin all the harder and kiss his lover’s nose in response.  Sorry, Mycroft, but you’re not getting out of letting me hear you play.  I know the genius of those fingers and am very anxious to see that genius at work on something other than my very willing and grateful body…

__________

Mycroft had little hesitation allowing their visit to extend beyond the predicted time to a full two and a half weeks, owing to the reliability of telegraph service from London and the fact that the impact on his Gregory was highly visible.  His smile was stronger and readier on his lips, his humor and fondness for impishness was creeping back and, though his weight had not rebounded significantly, the harsh angles were softened sufficiently to mark progress worthy of calling this small respite a rousing success.  However, it was time to hasten back to London and begin the next phase of his beloved’s return.

      “Your poor mum… I thought she was going to weep herself dry!”

      “Yes, Mummy will miss you greatly, my dear.  Only you tolerate the social rigmarole she prizes from with guests.  Sherlock, John and I are abject failures on that score, I’m afraid.”

      “How long do you think it’s going to be before she’s on a train, herself, bound for London?”

      “Now that I know of her scheming association with Mrs. Hudson, I believe I can use that to forestall an invasion for at least a month, if not two.”

      “I promise that I’ll take charge of all that pesky business you abhor like shopping and escorting her for all the things ladies like to do when they’re in London.”

Gregory was an angel he was not worthy to know.

      “Something she will appreciate most profoundly.  The famous explorer, Gregory Lestrade, returned from the dead… prepare to be her social showpiece for the remainder of her years.”

      “I’m proud to do it!  I’ll bring things with me to make her guests ooh and aah and tell all sorts of rousing tales which will… they’ll have a kernel of truth in there somewhere, but who really cares if the rousing bit is rousing enough.”

All forward thinking, all positive and all sounding more and more like his dearest Gregory.  Mummy would forever tout the healing properties of her home and hospitality, but it was a small price to pay.  Especially if Gregory was the one hearing most of her tales while holding her various hats and powder cases in London’s finest shops.

      “She will adore you all the more for it.  Now…”

      “Hate to interrupt, but… do either of you have a knife?”

From the look on John’s face, it was a touch unclear if he hoped the answer was yes or no.

      “I have one for the fruit in our victuals sack.”

      “Oh… thanks, Mycroft, but I’m not certain that’s quite sharp enough.”

      “John… what has my brother committed now?”

      “He’d hoped to clamber out onto the exterior of the train for… I have no idea what for, but, now, he’s got his trousers caught on something and… well, there’s rather a large audience building so he refuses to simply remove his trousers so he can come back inside.  Help me.”

Mycroft’s pained sigh preceded his grunt as he began to push himself up from the bench, but he was beat to the punch by Lestrade who made an ‘I’ve got this’ gesture and rummaged for the knife in their bag.

      “Let me do this, love.  You sit and enjoy a bite of cheese and no-knife-needed fruit while I see our acrobat back into the train.”

Watching John and Lestrade leave to rescue Sherlock, Mycroft drummed his fingers on his stomach in a happy fashion and may have hummed a little tune in satisfaction with their circumstances.  Dear Gregory was seizing his former self with both hands and the younger men were gladly facilitating the reformation of the man they had missed so terribly.  Not a bit of the overly-careful handling that his Gregory would despise, but a welcoming back with the standard quantity of mischief and bedlam his lover would remember fondly.  Of course, if Sherlock was pitched from the train, that would be two members of the household on crutches, which might be one too many for said household to bear.  Oh well, John was there to do any hands-on rescuing if his Gregory’s arms were not up to the task.  Families functioned as a unit, did they not, with each member playing their part… for his part, he would keep a keen eye on the landscape for evidence of a scientist-cum-detective bouncing along the scenery.  Mummy would appreciate hearing the artistic details as she sat as Sherlock’s bedside in hospital…


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we come to the end of our tale. It's been a true joy to write this and interact with everyone as the story has gone along. Thank you to all who have left kudos and kind words - they have been extremely motivating and a continuous source of joy!

      “Are you prepared, my dear?”

Lestrade took a large bite of breakfast to forestall speaking because the answer was too complex for the single-word response his Mycroft was hoping to hear.

      “Stop badgering Lestrade, Slugcroft.”

      “Thank you, Sherlock, but I do believe my words fell far short of the category of badgering.”

      “I believe your henpecking has left visible wounds in his flesh that John has not the multitude of bandages to satisfactorily staunch the bleeding.”

      “Gregory, if your rended flesh elevates in pain to a truly agonizing level, do alert me so I might dispatch Mrs. Hudson to the chemist for a medication to soothe your distress.”

      “I will keep that firmly in mind.”

      “There, Sherlock.  Solicitousness belies a charge of badgering.  Kindly enjoy your breakfast in a manner that offers the rest of us a blissful degree of silence.”

      “No.”

      “John, whereas I am gladdened that you are accompanying Gregory and me to the RGS, perhaps your time might be more productively spent standing guard over the cage in which I will lock Sherlock for the duration of our visit.  He is far too fractious this morning to be released into the public at large.”

      “No.”

      “Good heavens, brother.  Doctor Watson has contracted your churlishness.”

      “If that is sexually-transmitted, then it is assured.”

Sherlock’s highly-satisfied smile gave Mycroft faith that his brother’s relationship with the good doctor was progressing along a highly-enjoyable path.

      “Delightful.  Your use of humor has improved from naught to deplorable in a remarkably short period of time.  You have my congratulations.”

Happy for the distraction, Lestrade’s mind  ran through his proposed morning.  Meet with the RGS board… _surprise_ the RGS board was more the case… then… that was the problem.  ‘Then’ could be a score of things and he was feeling nervous about all of them.  Even with Mycroft supporting him every step of the way, it had all seemed so much less daunting when they talked about it last night.  Mycroft had notified the RGS board that he wanted a meeting, he notified the owners and publishers of the largest newspapers in London that he wanted a meeting and he notified their favorite restaurant to have a table waiting for a late lunch when the various meetings were completed.  With all of that, word would spread quickly about his rise from the grave and… one good thing about being so thin was that it didn’t take a great deal of alcohol to put a pleasant hum in his head.  Having a hummy head might just be the way to make it through the next several days with his sanity fully intact.

      “My sense of humor, Mycroft, is of the highest order.  It is only the lack of intelligence around me that prevents the fact from being widely known.”

      “Yes, that is surely the case.  John, I offer you a final chance…”

      “No.”

      “I hear the importers have acquired a truly exquisite tea in the last round of trade.  I, of course, have access to the supply in whatever abundance I desire…”

      “N… how exquisite?”

      “John!  Your betrayal, though inevitable, should not be bought so cheaply.  I am utterly ashamed of your pitifully-low standards.”

      “Exquisite tea isn’t cheap, Sherlock.  This could work out very well for me.”

      “Treachery for profit generally does.  Unless the villain is caught, in which case an execution is typically in order.”

      “Let me finish my tea first, though, will you?  Like to know what it is I’m losing my head over.”

Looking over at Lestrade, Mycroft was relieved to notice the standard morning ridiculousness was assisting in the lowering of nervous tension in his lover’s body.  Today was the day of revelation and, after this, there would be no retreating into anonymity behind these walls.  He could only hope that the explorer was braced for the onslaught of publicity and inquiry his return would prompt.  Regardless, he would stand as guardian at the gate and make the experience as tolerable one as possible.

      “While Sherlock ruminates upon John’s duplicity, shall we finalize our preparations for the day, my dear?  I know you are hopeful of making your most resplendent appearance.”

Which had taken the input of the entire household to affect to his lover’s satisfaction.  Actually, Mrs. Hudson’s satisfaction was the final vote, but his Gregory’s ran a scathingly-close second.

      “Stellar idea.  John, try not to be too traitory while I’m dressing.  In fact, you should likely get your treasonous arse to dressing, as well.  With Sherlock lecturing you on loyalty the entire time, it’s bound to slow your efforts rather significantly.”

John made a ‘it’s fine for you to leave now, in fact, it’s best if you do’ gesture that brought a smile to Lestrade’s face and he took that as a final sign to set himself in motion.  He’d have support every moment, with Mycroft, John and Sherlock accompanying him to his various meetings, but… he was still the focus and that was going to make for an exceedingly long morning.  But, he hadn’t let a sunken ship, infection or fever beat him, so a pack of men in suits certainly weren’t going to stand much chance.

Men in suits were so much more frustrating to deal with, though…

__________

      “Gregory, do you remain with us?”

Mycroft tried not to smile at the man next to him in the cab, who was staring straight ahead as if in some form of mental daze.

      “I… no?”

      “Let us try ‘yes,’ instead and add a bottle of champagne to our lunch order.”

      “That’s… alright?”

      “Two bottles, then.  I am agog at your reception, my dear.  The Royal Geographical Society might see a name change to the Gregory Lestrade Society, so excited was the board to witness your resurrection.  The praise, the continuous stream of lauds and accolades…  their welcome was entirely without artifice and their joy was a thing to behold.  And already you are offered employment!  Insisted upon, in point of fact.  I cannot imagine how this could have proceeded more successfully.”

Giving his lover’s leg a small squeeze, Mycroft marveled at how overcome was the explorer at the jubilance of his welcome.  Fortunately, there had been three other individuals present to speak for his Gregory as Gregory himself had sat dumbstruck through much of the meeting, processing as best he could how quickly he was brought back into the RGS fold and the honest sense of happiness the knowledge of his continued life had brought.

      “They want me working again.”

Said with just a touch of confusion that Mycroft sadly understood.  His lover was struggling with the concept of acceptance, but each bit of evidence that _he_ was important, not his weight or gait, would see that struggle come to an end.

      “And in, if I might be so bold, an excellent situation.  Your talents for showmanship make you an exceptional candidate to give continued talks to boast the RGS’s accomplishments.  You will be able to raise funds, educate and entertain… you shall be their public face, in many ways.  Such a superb opportunity for one of your skills and interests.  If you choose to accept, of course.”

Mycroft cut eyes towards the explorer, who had puffed out his cheeks in the most juvenile display of jumbled thinking one could imagine.

      “They want me back.”

      “That might change if your mind does not regain its focus.”

      “I… I just…”

      “You thought the welcome would not be such a warm one.”

      “I… yes.  I suppose that’s it.  I thought we’d walk in and they’d… chastise me or something.  Look embarrassed, maybe, that I’d come calling at their door and then try to urge me _out_ the door as soon as possible.  I didn’t expect something so… exuberant.”

      “Your influence was a strong one, my dear.  A gladly-experienced one.  They, for lack of a better term, missed you.  What you did to further their goals, bolster their reputation… let alone your unflagging hard work and dedication to doing your utmost for whatever challenge you were presented... all was appreciated and admired.  Further, I sensed they relished your company.  You are not a sour, recalcitrant individual, but one with whom it is easy to work and socialize.  That is now returned to them and they are glad for it.  So, I shall ask again… are you considering accepting their offer?”

      “I’d be foolish not to.”

      “That is not an answer to my question.”

      “It is, actually.  It would be foolish not to accept and Greg Lestrade, while many things, not all of them good, is not a fool.”

Mycroft tried not to smile too broadly, for that would seem smug, but he would allow himself a touch of smugness as he had predicted with near perfect certainty that the lure of being again a center of attention, and using that attention for highly-rewarding objectives, would be too tempting to for his lover to resist.

      “Excellent.  I hoped that would be the case.  I, of course, will assist with the negotiation of your wages if you choose.”

      “I’d like that, actually.  That’s not a strength of mine, I admit.  I normally do a bit of negotiation, but I’m just so happy to be doing what I love that I don’t pay the financial end as much attention as I ought to.”

      “We will see you are fairly compensated for your efforts, I promise you that.  And, beginning tomorrow, we shall meet with bank representatives to restore your accounts.  That might take a few days to achieve, but your monies _will_ be returned to you, my dear.  I do believe, also, that you once mentioned certain investments.  That, as well, is something we can restore and restructure to best fit your current needs.”

      “That sounds… well, like a lot of work actually.  Though… you’re smiling.”

      “I admit to taking some degree of pleasure in… managing things, but do not believe that I intend to usurp your control of your finances.  That is the farthest thing from my mind.  However, if you do feel I am taking too large a role in the proceedings, please do not hesitate to tell me, Gregory.  I can… Sherlock often accuses me of pernicious meddling and I cannot always say his accusations are unfounded.”

      “You care, love, and that’s a grand thing.  But, I do promise to say something if I feel the perniciousness is becoming a bit thick.”

      “My mind is eased.  Now, are you ready for out next challenge?”

      “Newspaper people.  I’ve had a good bit of dealings with that lot, but not owners and publishers, as much.  John actually has an advantage on me for that.”

      “Then aren’t we fortunate he shall be with us for our meeting.  A few of the individuals you have already met from our night out to hear the musical performance, so not all faces shall be unfamiliar ones.”

      “Really?  Oh… that does make me feel a little better.  They seemed agreeable sorts of chaps.”

      “Some are, some are nefarious snakes, however, they shall moderate that to a degree given they will not wish to lose access to what will certainly be a tremendously impactful story for their papers.”

      “Do you think…”

      “Yes?”

      “They won’t want a drawing or one of those photographs, will they?”

      “Perhaps, but that is not a thing to dread.  Such will only add veracity and emotion to your tale, something which will be beneficial as you rebuild your presence in London.  Let us see how the meeting progresses and you may set your limits and conditions as you see fit.”

      “That’s a good plan.  I’m used to being written about in the newspapers, but… not like this.”

      “A new experience, then.  Something which you know you crave, my dear.”

The smallest of smiles broke out on Lestrade’s face and Mycroft claimed it as reward for his efforts.

      “I do, that is certainly the case.”

      “Then let that be your mindset going forward.  This is simply a new experience for you to enjoy.  One you shall look back on and, most likely, weave into the tales of your return.  I have no doubt, the embellishments you surely will add add shall entertain your audience most thoroughly.”

      “I do weave a good story.”

      “Unquestionably.”

      “Alright… I think I’m ready.”

      “Good, for our destination lies just ahead.”

      “Already?”

      “Courage, my dear… courage.”

__________

      “Intolerable!”

Forward thinking had placed their group in a quiet corner of the restaurant where Sherlock’s frequent exclamations wouldn’t too severely distress the other patrons as Sherlock was not the kindest influence on one’s digestion.

      “If you are hoping for an apology, brother, I can see no possible reason to offer one.”

      “Lestrade is…”

      “Slated to become a highly-celebrated man?”

      “Yes!  No!  I mean… John should be celebrated, as well.”

John surveyed the cutlery on the table and wondered if any would be sufficient to perform a vocal cord removal without taking too much time away from his meal.

      “I, John, have something to say on that issue and what I wish to say is this – no celebration.  Or, at least, no more celebration.  I had my bit of that and a bit was far more than enough.  I did get a few articles in the newspapers, if you remember, Sherlock.”

      “Pitifully few and possessing a minimum of words.  They are staging a… we shall be awash in Lestrade’s ridiculous escapade for the remainder of the year!”

      “I, for one, brother, am most heartened that the newspapers are enthusiastic about printing the details of Gregory’s ordeal and, further, hope to use their additional publication avenues to serialize other of his adventures.  I am highly eager to view their bids for the rights and, shall we say, pit one against the other to gain Gregory the best price for his stories.”

      “They should also bid for John!”

Who wondered if Sherlock would ever consider his life _his_ own property.  Realizing the answer was ‘no,’ John resigned himself to forever protesting against the apparent loss of deed and reasserting his freehold status.

      “I’ve already made my bargain with a publisher, Sherlock, and, though this might pain you to hear, I did very well for myself in gaining a good deal for my work.  So, stop trying to turn today towards me and let’s focus on the poor idiot who is now the property of the London citizens until the day he truly meets his death.”

      “Thanks, John.  You’re a true and proper friend.”

      “You’re welcome, Greg.  Enjoy being the prize bull trotted about for the people to applaud.”

      “Mycroft, you said something about champagne?  I could stand a glass or five.”

Motioning for the waiter, Mycroft swallowed a small laugh at the continued overwhelm of his lover.  The newspaper owners and publishers had nearly exploded out of their seats when the explorer was revealed and it was all he, Sherlock and John could do to contain their voracious appetite for information, as the questions flowed fast and Lestrade seemed a touch overcome trying to answer them at the pace they were asked.  And the interest in continuing to promote his Gregory’s life and work… it was glorious to witness.  To have him recount his adventures and present them, in utterly grandiose form most likely, to the public… his lover could not have hidden his surprise and delight if he had tried.

      “Whatever you desire, Gregory, you shall have in abundance.  This is a celebration, is it not?  And, have you noticed the glances in our direction?  The glances that change to open stares of shock as the truth makes itself known.  I thought the maître d’ would faint dead away seeing you enter his establishment.  You are to be the most sought-after man in London for a long, long time and a treasured addition to the city’s personages for as long as you reside in its boundaries.”

The champagne arrived and no time was wasted getting glasses poured, one of which went quickly down the explorer’s throat so he could have his glass refilled before the last of the party had their first truly in hand.

      “This is going to be…”

      “An adventure, Gregory.”

      “An opportunity, I’d say, Greg.”

      “A travesty.  Nothing short of the most criminal travesty perpetrated on the human race.”

Lestrade reached over and drank Sherlock’s champagne in one swallow, using Sherlock’s subsequent affront to steal the just-buttered bread from Sherlock’s plate.

      “Theft!”

      “There is more champagne, brother, as well as more bread.  Kindly make copious use of both.  A busy mouth is a quiet mouth.”

Sherlock’s hiss surprised no one, but it did something to loosen the tightness in Lestrade’s chest.  Yes, his life was undergoing a rapid period of change, but so many things were exactly the same.  No matter how loony his days would be in coming weeks or months, the people around this table would always be their typical selves and that was a tremendous anchor to keep his ship safely moored.  Mycroft and John were right… this was a fantastic opportunity and an exciting adventure, both of which he would embrace with open arms.  He was Greg Lestrade… he _was_ Greg Lestrade and that man was having a day beyond belief.  Certainly time for more champagne and the finest meal this restaurant had to offer.  The next time they came, he’d be the one to pay.  Life could he horrid, at times, but if you held on and kept going, it could be wonderful, too…

__________

_A goodly number of months later... ___

      “Gregory!  Where are the documents for the Bavaria situation?”

      “Waiting for your signature in the stack to your right.  You said you were done with them and wanted me to burn them post-haste, but I won’t consign anything to the fire unless it’s got your lovely signature across the bottom.”

Mycroft had to admit that since his Gregory ‘accepted’ the position of personal secretary to the extremely busy and continuously-burdened Mycroft Holmes, dealing with the more tedious aspects of his work were far more tolerable.  And, of course, as personal secretary to someone with his level of responsibility, taking rooms in the Holmes house was a stellar nod to efficiency that made the various strata of government exceedingly content.  Especially since the on-site secretary was most skilled at keeping Mr. Mycroft Holmes on a somewhat regular schedule and middle-of-the-night summons to the Holmes residence for a meeting were far fewer than in the past.

The fact that the secretary was none other than the illustrious Gregory Lestrade failed to raise more than a curious eyebrow, for who had not heard the tragic and horrendous tale of Mr. Lestrade’s ordeal in Africa.  He and Mr. Holmes had been fast friends before the tragedy and it was a mark of consideration for the offer of steady employment to be extended.  Lectures, consultation on expeditions, and his writings could not be counted on to provide a reliable source of income and if anyone deserved a touch of kindness in this terrible world it was the former explorer.

      “Oh, very well.  The ink of my name shall add luster to the glow of their burning.”

      “I do prize a lustrous fire.”

And fire was what they enjoyed.  His Gregory had regained most of his former weight, but still felt a greater chill in his bones than before his experience and it was Mycroft’s honor to see a cozy fire burned in their shared study while they worked and that one always awaited his lover when he returned from his work for the RGS.

Which was continuing and _would_ continue to make his lover a notable presence in London society.  The talks and presentations, attendance at dinners, function and parties… his Gregory was eagerly sought for his quick wit and energetic personality, as well as the mystique and legend that surrounded him, something which grew thicker and more tantalizing with the passage of time.  And one could not forget his stories!  As John’s fame grew with his tales of the cases on which he and Sherlock worked, so did Gregory’s, and, with surprising regularity, letters arrived from individuals who had read the latest installment and were eager to bestow accolades, ask questions or beg for him to pressure his publisher to increase the frequency of the printing so they did not have to wait so long for the next piece of the tale.  It was a shining bright spot of any day when his beloved sat with his correspondence and answered the letters, especially those from children who were inspired to learn more about their world from the explorer’s rousing tales.  He would take ages to address their questions and encourage them to learn, read and travel to see everything they wanted to see and know all they wished to know about the very large world around them.

His love would not again journey through the unknown wilds, meeting unknowable danger and difficulties, but he was leading an exciting, rewarding, meaningful life and that was the point of importance.  Though they shared certain elements of work, Gregory had his own, independent life that kept him challenged and satisfied which, when combined with the tangible accomplishments he could claim, made for a very happy man.  That this life could also involve true love and the bonds of family, was something worth shouting to the mountaintops in the loudest of voices.

      “Oh, and Mycroft… you do need to make the decision about Sherlock and John.”

Bonds of family that strangled at times, but one made accommodations for blood.

      “Your thoughts, my dear?”

      “It _would_ be nice to have a bit of privacy.”

      “They hope to lease the house next door.  I suspect privacy shall not be overwhelmingly increased by the thickness of a wall.”

      “You’d be surprised, I think.  There’s a way of thinking that grows around walls and doors that… well, given it’s Sherlock, it won’t be as helpful as for a typical person, but I suspect with a house of their own, they won’t be so inclined to invade this one at all hours.  Say, when we’re enjoying the fact they’re _not_ at home and in the most lustful way possible.”

That was true.  There was little more infuriating than a lustful moment in the library interrupted by a pounding on the door for Sherlock’s want of a book.  Infernal child…

      “And it’ll be good for them to… well, to be masters of their own house.  It’s got to chafe a bit that they can’t claim the final word on anything and that their comings and goings are always observed.  They want a taste of independence, and I know that, for John, it’s something he deems highly important.  He’s greatly enjoyed living here, but I’m not certain he expected it to ever be his permanent home.”

      “I suppose you are right… and Sherlock, surprisingly, is not asking the moon and stars from me to make this happen.”

      “Not at all, I think.  Normal for a younger brother.  Bit of help with the rent, especially at first, and, if they find that they can manage well on their own, it’ll only be emergency funds should the need arise.  They’re not making a terrible living, with John’s pay for his stories and the cases of their own they’ve started to take for a fee.  And, there’s the benefit that Mrs. Turner and her staff are included in the rent, so there’s no need to bother with any hiring.  That’s especially helpful since you know Mrs. Turner is a fearsome as Mrs. Hudson when it comes to making certain her house and its occupants are kept orderly.”

On one hand, the likely flow of funds towards the younger couple for what would be the duration of life on Earth.  On the other… unchecked carnality.  There truly was but a single choice.

      “I will give my consent at dinner.”

      “They’ll appreciate that, love, they really will.  Then you and I can start planning our trip to Egypt.”

WHAT!

      “P…Pardon?”

      “Our trip!  Don’t you remember when your mother last visited, we talked about doing a trip to Egypt?  What a grand place that is and I’ve never been there in fine style, doing the hotels and tours with the posh types like you.  It’s going to be brilliant!”

Brilliant?  Was the man mad?”

      “I remember nothing of the sort.  You are having a jest at my expense.”

      “Wrong, and I’ve got your mother as a witness.”

      “Wrong, again, and Mummy is a credible witness for naught in this life as she remembers precisely and only what she chooses and in the manner that suits her best at the moment.”

      “She’ll remember this and remember it well.  She said she might even come along.”

THE APOCALYPSE HAS ARRIVED!  HIDE THE SHEEP AND CHILDREN!

      “There, again, you are being comical.”

      “I’ll stop in at Thomas Cook to see what they can arrange for us.  The most comfortable and enjoyable trip possible, will be my demands.  Nothing but the best for my Mycroft.  And his mum.”

Mycroft’s head dropped into his hands and his body heaved with a massive sigh, while Lestrade grinned brightly at the show.  They had their lovely home in the country to visit, but going a touch further afield would be nice, on occasion, too.  Maybe not Egypt this year, but they _would_ go at some point.  Italy, maybe, as well, or the Orient.  Safe, comfortable travel so his Mycroft could see more of the world than the little patch of ground called England.  He’d lost his crutches and his Mycroft had lost a few stone, so a bit of walking to see the wondrous sights was certainly possible.  Not _overly_ much because he still needed his walking stick and Mycroft still viewed exercise much as he viewed an overcooked piece of fish, but… they would manage.  They’d built a life together, hadn’t they?  Two men had built a real life together and would walk side by side through whatever that life would bring.  If they could do that, a spot of travel would be ridiculously easy.

      “I believe my mind is hemorrhaging at the thought.  Your love has grown cold, Gregory Lestrade, and I shan’t ever forgive you for it.”

      “Not even if I do something to warm that love right up again?”

      “Oh?  Do go on.”

      “It involves… skin.”

      “Continue.”

      “And… hands.  Tongues might play a role, too.”

      “I am reassessing the temperature of our ardor.”

      “Want me to add some demonstration to my lecture so you can have a better sense of things?”

      “That would be helpful, yes.”

      “Alright, then, just let me lock the door… and plug the keyhole… and there.  Ready for a touch of ardor warming?”

      “Absolutely.”

      “Then that’s what you’ll have.  And for eternity, too.”

Which just might be enough time for the love they had to grow to its fullest flower.  If not, time would certainly expand a bit for their sake.  Even the universe made allowances for things like that…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all for reading this story and making the writing process a wonderful experience. Do leave comments, kudos or visit my tumblr or twitter (eventhorizon451 for both) to say hello and let me know your thoughts on the story!


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